<tS-£~ 


1^1«i~ 

=3^== 


GRIFFITH    GAUNT; 


OR, 


JEALOUSY. 


BY 


CHARLES   READE, 


AUTHOR   OF 

PIARD  CASH,"   "PEG  WOFFINGTON,"   "CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE,"  "NEVER  TOO  LATE 
TO  MEND,"   "LOVE  ME  LITTLE,  LOVE  ME  LONG,"  &c 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


NEW    YO  RK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 
187O. 


r 


CHARLES   READERS  NOVELS. 

POPULAR    EDITION. 


PUT  YOURSELF  IN  HIS  PLACE.    Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

HARD  CASH.    A  Matter-of-Fact  Romance.     Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  or,  Jealousy.    Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper,  25  cents. 

NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

LOVE  ME  LITTLE,  LOVE  ME  LONG.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

FOUL  PLAY.    8vo,  Paper,  25  cents. 

WHITE  LIES.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH ;  or,  Maid,  Wife,  and  Widow.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

PEG  WOFFINGTON,  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE,  and  Other  Stories.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

fc^3  Sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


Griffith  Gaunt  ;  or,  Jealousy. 


chapter  I. 

"  Then  I  say,  once  for  all,  that  priest  shall 
never  darken  my  doors  again." 

"Then  I  say  they  are  my  doors,  and  not 
yours,  and  that  holy  man  shall  brighten  them 
whenever  he  will." 

|  The  gentleman  and  lady  who  faced  each  oth- 
er pale  and  furious,  and  interchanged  this  bitter 
defiance,  were  man  and  wife,  and  had  loved  each 
other  well. 

Miss  Catharine  Peyton  was  a  young  lady  of 
ancient  family  in  Cumberland,  and  the  most 
striking,  but  least  popular,  beauty  in  the  coun- 
ty. She  was  very  tall  and  straight,  and  carried 
herself  a  little  too  imperiously ;  yet  she  would 
sometimes  relax  and  all  but  dissolve  that  haughty 
figure,  and  hang  sweetly  drooping  over  her  fa- 
vorites ;  then  the  contrast  was  delicious,  and  the 
woman  fascinating. 

Her  hair  was  golden  and  glossy,  her  eyes  a 
lovely  gray ;  and  she  had  a  way  of  turning  them 
on  slowly  and  full,  so  that  their  victim  could  not 
fail  to  observe  two  things  :  first,  that  they  were 
grand  and  beautiful  orbs  ;  secondly,  that  they 
were  thoughtfully  overlooking  him,  instead  of 
looking  at  him. 

So  contemplated  by  glorious  eyes,  a  man  feels 
small  and  bitter. 

Catharine  was  apt  to  receive  the  blunt  compli- 
ments of  the  Cumberland  squires  with  this  sweet, 
celestial,  superior  gaze,  and  for  this  and  other  im- 
perial charms  was  more  admired  than  liked. 

The  family  estate  was  entailed  on  her  brother ; 
her  father  spent  every  farthing  he  could ;  so  she 
had  no  money,  and  no  expectations,  except  from 
a  distant  cousin  —  Mr.  Charlton,  of  Hernshaw 
Castle  and  Bolton  Hall. 

Even  these  soon  dwindled.  Mr.  Charlton  took 
a  fancy  to  his  late  wife's  relation,  Griffith  Gaunt, 
and  had  him  into  his  house,  and  treated  him  as 
his  heir.  This  disheartened  two  admirers  who 
had  hitherto  sustained  Catharine  Peyton's  gaze, 
and  they  retired.  Comely  girls,  girls  long-nosed, 
but  rich,  girls  snub-nosed,  but  winning,  married 
on  all  sides  of  her  ;  but  the  imperial  beauty  re- 
mained Miss  Peyton  at  two-and-twenty. 

She  was  rather  kind  to  the  poor ;  would  give 
them  money  out  of  her  slender  purse,  and  would 
even  make  clothes  for  the  women,  and  sometimes 
read  to  them :  very  few  of  them  could  read  to 
themselves  in  that  day.  All  she  required  in  re- 
turn was  that  they  should  be  Roman  Catholics 
like  herself,  or  at  least  pretend  they  might  be 
brought  to  that  faith  by  little  and  little. 

She  was  a  high-minded  girl,  and  could  be  a 
womanly  one — whenever  she  chose. 

She  hunted  about  twice  a  week  in  the  season, 
and  was  at  home  in  the  saddle,  for  she  had  rid- 
den from  a  child ;  but  so  ingrained  was  her  char- 


acter, that  this  sport  which  more  or  less  unsexes 
most  women,  had  no  perceptible  effect  on  her 
mind,  nor  even  on  her  manners.  The  scarlet 
riding-habit  and  little  purple  cap,  and  the  great 
white,  bony  horse  she  rode,  were  often  seen  in  a 
good  place  at  the  end  of  a  long  run ;  but,  for  all 
that,  the  lady  was  a  most  ungenial  fox-huntress. 
She  never  spoke  a  word  but  to  her  acquaintances, 
and  wore  a  settled  air  of  dreamy  indifference,  ex- 
cept when  the  hounds  happened  to  be  in  full 
cry,  and  she  galloping  at  their  heels.  Worse 
than  that,  when  the  dogs  were  running  into  the 
fox,  and  his  fate  certain,  she  had  been  known  to 
rein  in  her  struggling  horse,  and  pace  thought- 
fully home,  instead  of  coming  in  at  the  death, 
and  claiming  the  brush. 

One  day,  being  complimented  at  the  end  of  a 
hard  run  by  the  gentleman  who  kept  the  hounds, 
she  turned  her  celestial  orbs  on  him,  and  said, 

"Nay,  Sir  Ralph,  I  love  to  gallop;  and  this 
sorry  business  gives  me  an  excuse." 

It  was  full  a  hundred  years  ago.  The  coun- 
try teemed  with  foxes ;  but  it  abounded  in  stiff 
coverts,  and  a  knowing  fox  was  sure  to  run  from 
one  to  another ;  and  then  came  wearisome  ef- 
forts to  dislodge  him ;  and  then  Miss  Peyton's 
gray  eyes  used  to  explore  vacancy,  and  ignore 
her  companions,  biped  and  quadruped. 

But  one  day  they  drew  Yewtree  Brow,  and 
found  a  stray  fox.  At  Gaylad's  first  note  he 
broke  cover,  and  went  away  for  home  across  the 
open  country.  A  hedger  saw  him  steal  out,  and 
gave  a  view  halloo ;  the  riders  came  round  hel- 
ter-skelter ;  the  dogs  in  cover  one  by  one  threw 
up  their  noses  and  voices ;  the  horns  blew,  the 
canine  music  swelled  to  a  strong  chorus,  and 
away  they  swept  across  country — dogs,  horses, 
men  ;  and  the  Deuse  take  the  hindmost ! 

It  was  a  gallant  chase,  and  our  dreamy  virgin's 
blood  got  up.  Erect,  but  lithe  and  vigorous,  and 
one  with  her  great  white  gelding,  she  came  fly- 
ing behind  the  foremost  riders,  and  took  leap  for 
leap  with  them.  One  glossy,  golden  curl  stream- 
ed back  in  the  rushing  air ;  her  gray  eyes  glow- 
ed with  earthly  fire ;  and  two  red  spots  on  the 
upper  part  of  her  cheeks  showed  she  was  much 
excited,  without  a  grain  of  fear.  Yet  in  the  first 
ten  minutes  one  gentleman  was  unhorsed  before 
her  eyes,  and  one  came  to  grief  along  with  his 
animal,  and  a  thorough-bred  chestnut  was  gallop- 
ing and  snorting  beside  her  with  empty  saddle. 
Presently  young  Featherstone,  who  led  her  by 
about  fifteen  yards,  crashed  through  a  high  hedge, 
and  was  seen  no  more,  but  heard  wallowing  in  the 
deep,  unsuspected  ditch  beyond.  There  was  no 
time  to  draw  bridle.  ' '  Lie  still,  sir,  if  you  please, " 
said  Catharine,  with  cool  civility ;  then  up  rein, 
in  spur,  and  she  cleared  the  ditch  and  its  muddy 
contents,  alive  and  dead,  and  away  without  look- 
ing behind  her. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


On,  on,  on,  till  all  the  pinks  and  buckskins, 
erst  so  smart,  were  splashed  with  clay  and  dirt 
of  every  hue,  and  all  the  horses'  late  glossy  coats 
were  bathed  with  sweat  and  lathered  with  foam, 
and  their  gaping  nostrils  blowing  and  glowing 
red;  and  then  it  was  that  Harrowden  Brook, 
swollen  wide  and  deep  by  the  late  rains,  came 
right  between  the  fox  and  Dogmore  Underwood, 
for  which  he  was  making. 

The  hunt  sweeping  down  a  hill-side  caught 
sight  of  Reynard  running  for  the  brook.  They 
made  sure  of  him  now.  But  he  lapped  a  drop, 
and  then  slipped  in,  and  soon  crawled  out  on  the 
other  side,  and  made  feebly  for  the  covert,  weight- 
ed with  wet  fur. 

At  sight  of  him  the  hunt  hallooed  and  trump- 
eted, and  came  tearing  on  with  fresh  vigor. 

But  when  they  came  near  the  brook,  lo,  it  was 
twenty  feet  wide,  and  running  fast  and  brown. 
Some  riders  skirted  it,  looking  for  a  narrow  part. 
Two  horses,  being  spurred  at  it,  came  to  the  bank, 
and  then  went  rearing  round  on  their  heels,  de- 
positing one  hat  and  another  rider  in  the  current. 
One  gallant  steed  planted  his  feet  like  a  tower, 
and  snorted  down  at  the  water.  One  flopped 
gravely  in,  and  had  to  swim,  and  be  dragged  out. 
Another  leaped,  and  landed  with  his  feet  on  the 
other  bank,  his  haunches  in  the  water,  and  his 
rider  curled  round  his  neck,  and  glaring  out  be- 
tween his  retroverted  ears. 

But  Miss  Peyton  encouraged  her  horse  with 
spur  and  voice,  set  her  teeth,  turned  rather  pale 
this  time,  and  went  at  the  brook  with  a  rush, 
and  cleared  it  like  a  deer.  She  and  the  hunts- 
man were  almost  alone  together  on  the  other 
side,  and  were  as  close  to  the  dogs  as  the  dogs 
were  to  poor  Pug,  when  he  slipped  through  a 
run  in  a  quickset  hedge,  and,  reducing  the  dogs 
\  to  single  file,  glided  into  Dogmore  Underwood, 
a  stiff  hazel  coppice  of  five  years'  growth. 

The  other  riders  soon  straggled  up,  and  then 
the  thing  was  to  get  him  out  again.  There  were 
a  few  narrow  roads  cut  in  the  underwood  ;  and 
up  and  down  these  the  huntsman  and  whipper- 
in  went  trotting,  and  encouraged  the  stanch 
hounds,  and  whipped  the  skulkers  back  into  cov- 
ert. Others  galloped  uselessly  about,  pounding 
the  earth,  for  daisy-cutters  were  few  in  those 
days ;  and  Miss  Peyton  l-elapsed  into  the  tran- 
scendental. She  sat  in  one  place,  with  her  elbow 
on  her  knee,  and  her  fair  chin  supported  by  two 
fingers,  as  undisturbed  by  the  fracas  of  horns 
and  voices  as  an  equestrian  statue  of  Diana. 

She  sat  so  still  and  so  long  at  a  corner  of  the 
underwood  that  at  last  the  harassed  fox  stole  out 
close  to  her  with  lolling  tongue  and  eye  askant, 
and  took  the  open  field  again.  She  thrilled  at 
first  sight  of  him,  and  her  cheeks  burned;  but 
her  quick  eye  took  in  all  the  signs  of  his  distress, 
and  she  sat  quiet,  and  watched  him  coolly.  Not 
so  her  horse.  He  plunged,  and  then  trembled 
all  over,  and  planted  his  fore  feet  together  at  this 
angle  \  ,  and  parted  his  hind  legs  a  little,  and  so 
stood  quivering,  with  cocked  ears,  and  peeped 
over  a  low  paling  at  the  retiring  quadruped,  and 
fretted  and  sweated  in  anticipation  of  the  gallop 
long  head  told  him  was  to  follow.  He  looked 
a  deal  more  statuesque  than  any  three  statues  in 
England,  and  all  about  a  creature  not  up  to  his 
knee.  And,  by-the-by,  the  gentlemen  who  carve 
horses  in  our  native  isle,  did  they  ever  see  one — 
out  of  an  omnibus  ?    The  whipper-in  came  by, 


and  found  him  in  this  gallant  attitude,  and  sus- 
pected the  truth,  but,  observing  the  rider's  tran- 
quil position,  thought  the  fox  had  only  popped 
out  and  then  in  again.  However,  he  fell  in  with 
the  huntsman,  and  told  him  Miss  Peyton's  gray 
had  seen  something.  The  hounds  appeared  puz- 
zled ;  and  so  the  huntsman  rode  round  to  Miss 
Peyton,  and,  touching  his  cap,  asked  her  if  she 
had  seen  nothing  of  the  fox. 

She  looked  him  dreamily  in  the  face. 

"The  fox?"  she  said;  "he  broke  cover  ten 
minutes  ago." 

The  man  blew  his  horn  lustily,  and  then  asked 
her  reproachfully  why  she  had  not  tally-hoed 
him,  or  winded  her  horn  :  with  that  he  blew  his 
own  impatiently. 

Miss  Peyton  replied,  very  slowly  and  pensive- 
ly, that  the  fox  had  come  out  soiled  and  fatigued, 
and  trailing  his  brush.  "  I  looked  at  him," said 
she,  "and  I  pitied  him.  He  was  one,  and  we 
are  many ;  he  was  so  little,  and  we  are  so  big ; 
he  had  given  us  a  good  gallop,  and  so  I  made 
up  my  mind  he  should  live  to  run  another  day." 

The  huntsman  stared  stupidly  at  her  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  burst  into  a  torrent  of  oaths,  then 
blew  his  horn  till  it  was  hoarse,  then  cursed  and 
swore  till  he  was  hoarse  himself,  .then  to  his  horn 
again,  and  dogs  and  men  came  rushing  to  the 
sound. 

"Couple  up,  and  go  home  to  supper,"  said 
Miss  Peyton,  quietly.  "  The  fox  is  half  way  to 
Gallowstree  Gorse ;  and  you  won't  get  him  out 
of  that  this  afternoon,  I  promise  you. " 

As  she  said  this,  she  touched  her  horse  with 
the  spur,  leaped  the  low  hedge  in  front  of  her, 
and  cantered  slowly  home  across  the  country. 
She  was  one  that  seldom  troubled  the  hard  road, 
go  where  she  would. 

She  had  ridden  about  a  mile,  when  she  heard 
a  horse's  feet  behind  her.  She  smiled,  and  her 
color  rose  a  little  ;  but  she  cantered  on. 

"Halt,  in  the  king's  name!"  shouted  a  mel- 
low voice ;  and  a  gentleman  galloped  up  to  her 
side,  and  reined  in  his  mare. 

"What!  have  they  killed?"  inquired  Cath- 
arine, demurely. 

"Not  they ;  he  is  in  the  middle  of  Gallowstree 
Gorse  by  now. " 

"And  this  is  the  way  to  Gallowstree  Gorse?" 

"Nay,  mistress,"  said  the  young  man  ;  "but 
when  the  fox  heads  one  way  and  the  deer  an- 
other, what  is  a  poor  hunter  to  do  ?" 

"•Follow  the  slower,  it  seems." 

"Say  the  lovelier  and  the  dearer,  sweet  Kate. " 

"Now,  Griffith,  you  know  I  hate  flattery," 
said  Kate ;  and  the  next  moment  came  a  soft 
smile,  and  belied  this  unsocial  sentiment. 

"Flattery?"  said  the  lover.  "I  have  no 
tongue  to  speak  half  your  praises.  I  think  the 
people  in  this  country  are  as  blind  as  bats,  or 
they'd — " 

"  All  except  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt;  he  has  found 
a  paragon,  where  wiser  people  see  a  wayward, 
capricious  girl." 

"  Then  he  is  the  man  for  you.  Don't  you  see 
that,  mistress  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't  quite  see  that,"  said  the  lady, 
dryly. 

This  cavalier  reply  caused  a  dismay  the  speak- 
er never  intended.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  George  Ne- 
ville, young,  handsome,  and  rich,  had  lately  set- 
tled in  the  neighborhood,  and  had  boen  greatly 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


smitten  with  Kate.  The  county  was  talking 
about  it,  and  Griffith  had  been  secretly  on  thorns 
for  some  days  past.  And  now  he  could  hide  his 
uneasiness  no  longer ;  he  cried  out,  in  a  sharp, 
trembling  voice, 

"  Why,  Kate,  my  dear  Kate !  what!  could  you 
love  any  man  but  me  ?  Could  you  be  so  cruel  ? 
could  you  ?  There,  let  me  get  off  my  horse,  and 
lie  down  on  this  stubble,  and  you  ride  over  me, 
and  trample  me  to  death.  I  would  rather  have 
you  trample  on  my  ribs  than  on  my  heart,  with 
loving  any  one  but  me. " 

"Why,  what  now?"  said  Catharine,  drawing 
herself  up;  "I  must  scold  you  handsomely;" 
and  she  drew  rein  and  turned  full  upon  him  ;  but 
by  this  means  she  saw  his  face  was  full  of  real 
distress ;  so,  instead  of  reprimanding  him,  she 
said,  gently,  "  Why,  Griffith,  what  is  to  do? 
Are  you  not  my  servant  ?  Do  not  I  send  you 
word  whenever  I  dine  from  home  :" 

"  Yes,  dearest ;  and  then  I  call  at  that  house, 
and  stick  there  till  they  guess  what  I  would  be 
at,  and  ask  me  too." 

Catharine  smiled,  and  proceeded  to  remind 
him  that  thrice  a  week  she  permitted  him  to 
ride  over  from  Bolton  (a  distance  of  fifteen  miles) 
to  see  her. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Griffith,  "  and  I  must  say  you 
always  come,  wet  or  dry,  to  the  shrubbery-gate, 
and  put  your  hand  in  mine  a  minute.  And, 
Kate,"  said  he,  piteously,  "at  the  bare  thought 
of  your  putting  that  same  dear  hand  in  another 
man's,  my  heart  turns  sick  within  me,  and  my 
skin  burns  and  trembles  on  me." 

"But  you  have  no  cause,"  said  Catharine, 
soothingly.  "Nobody,  except  yourself,  doubts 
my  affection  for  you.  You  are  often  thrown  in 
my  teeth,  Griffith — and"  (clenching  her  own)  "I 
like  you  all  the  better,  of  course." 

Griffith  replied  with  a  burst  of  gratitude  ;  and 
then,  as  men  will,  proceeded  to  encroach. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "if  you  would  but  pluck  up 
courage,  and  take  the  matrimonial  fence  with 
me  at  once." 

Miss  Peyton  sighed  at  that,  and  drooped  a  lit- 
tle upon  her  saddle.  After  a  pause,  she  enumer- 
ated the  "just  impediments."  She  reminded 
hill  that  neither  of  them  had  means  to  marry 
on. 

He  made  light  of  that ;  he  should  have  plen- 
ty ;  Mr.  Charlton  has  as  good  as  told  him  he 
was  to  have  Bolton  Hall  and  Grange:  "Six 
hundred  acres,  Kate,  besides  the  park  and  pad- 
docks." 

In  his  warmth  he  forgot  that  Catharine  was  to 
have  been  Mr.  Charlton's  heir  Catharine  was 
too  high-minded  to  bear  Griffith  any  grudge ; 
but  she  colored  a  little,  and  said  she  was  averse 
to  come  to  him  a  penniless  bride. 

' '  Why,  what  matters  it  which  of  us  has  the 
dross,  so  that  there  is  enough  for  both  ?"  said 
Griffith,  with  an  air  of  astonishment. 

Catharine  smiled  approbation,  and  tacitly 
yielded  that  point.  But  then  she  objected  the 
difference  in  their  faith. 

"Oh,  honest  folk  get  to  heaven  by  different 
roads,"  said  Griffith,  carelessly. 

"I  have  been  taught  otherwise,"  replied  Cath- 
arine  gravely. 

"Then  give  me  your  hand  and  I'll  give  you 
my  soul,"  said  Griffith  Gaunt,  impetuously. 
"I'll  go  to  heaven  your  way,  if  you  can't  go 


mine.  Any  thing  sooner  than  be  parted  in  this 
world  or  the  next." 

She  looked  at  him  in  silence ;  and  it  was  in  a 
faint,  half  apologetic  tone  she  objected  that  all 
her  kinsfolk  were  set  against  it. 

"  It  is  not  their  business — it  is  ours,"  was  the 
prompt  reply. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Catharine,  sadly,  "I  sup- 
pose I  must  tell  you  the  true  reason  :  I  feel  I 
should  not  make  you  happy ;  I  do  not  love  you 
quite  as  you  want  to  be  loved — as  you  deserve  to 
be  loved.  You  need  not  look  so ;  nothing  in 
flesh  and  blood  is  your  rival.  But  my  heart 
bleeds  for  the  Church ;  I  think  of  her  ancient 
glory  in  this  kingdon*,  and,  when  I  see  her  pres- 
ent condition,  I  long  to  devote  myself  to  her 
service.  I  am  very  fit  to  be  an  abbess  or  a  nun 
— most  unfit  to  be  a  wife.  No,  no — I  must  not, 
ought  not,  dare  not,  marry  a  Protestant.  Take 
the  advice  of  one  who  esteems  you  dearly ;  leave 
me — fly  from  me — forget  me — do  every  thing 
but  hate  me.  Nay,  do  not  hate  me  ;  you  little 
know  the  struggle  in  my  mind.  Farewell ;  the 
saints,  whom  you  scorn,  watch  over  and  protect 


you 


Farewell!' 


And  with  this  she  sighed,  and  struck  her  spur 
into  the  gray,  and  he  darted  off  at  a  gallop. 

Griffith,  little  able  to  cope  with  such  a  char- 
acter as  this,  sat  petrified,  and  would  have  been 
rooted  to  the  spot  if  he  had  happened  to  be  on 
foot.  But  his  mare  set  off  after  her  companion, 
and  a  chase  of  a  novel  kind  commenced.  Cath- 
arine's horse  was  fresher  than  Griffith's  mare, 
and  the  latter,  not  being  urged  by  her  petrified 
master,  lost  ground. 

But  when  she  drew  near  to  her  father's  gate, 
Catharine  relaxed  her  speed,  and  Griffith  rejoin- 
ed her. 

She  had  already  half  relented,  and  only  want- 
ed a  warm  and  resolute  wooer  to  bring  her 
round.  But  Griffith  was  too  sore,  and  too  little 
versed  in  woman.  Full  of  suspicion  and  bitter- 
ness, he  paced  gloomy  and  silent  by  her  side  till 
they  reached  the  great  avenue  that  led  to  her  fa- 
ther's house. 

And  while  ha  rides  alongside  the  capricious 
creature  in  sulky  silence,  I  may  as  well  reveal  a 
certain  foible  in  his  own  character. 

This  Griffith  Gaunt  was  by  no  means  deficient 
in  physical  courage ;  but  he  was  instinctively 
disposed  to  run  away  from  mental  pain  the  mo- 
ment he  lost  hope  of  driving  it  away  from  him. 
For  instance,  if  Catharine  had  been  ill  and  her 
life  in  danger,  he  would  have  ridden  day  and 
night  to  save  her — would  have  beggared  himself 
to  save  her ;  but  if  she  had  died,  he  would  ei- 
ther have  killed  himself,  or  else  fled  the  country, 
and  so  escaped  the  sight  of  every  object  that  was 
associated  with  her  and  could  agonize  him.  I 
do  not  think  he  could  have  attended  the  funeral 
of  one  he  loved. 

The  mind,  as  well  as  the  body,  has  its  self- 
protecting  instincts.  This  of  Griffith's  was,  aft- 
er all,  an  instinct  of  that  class,  and,  under  certain 
circumstances,  is  true  wisdom.  But  Griffith,  I 
think,  carried  the  instinct  to  excess ;  and  that 
is  why  I  call  it  his  foible. 

"  Catharine."  said  he,  resolutely,  "let  me  ride 
by  your  side  to  the  house  for  once ;  for  I  read 
your  advice  my  own  way,  and  I  mean  to  follow 
it :  after  to-day  you  will  be  troubled  with  me  no 
more.     I  have*  loved  you  these  three  years,  I 


s 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  j  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


have  courted  you  these  two  years,  and  I  am 
none  the  nearer ;  I  see  I  am  not  the  man  you 
mean  to  marry ;  so  I  shall  do  as  my  father  did, 
ride  down  to  the  coast,  and  sell  my  horse,  and 
ship  for  foreign  parts." 

"Oh,  as  you  will,"  said  Catharine,  haughtily: 
she  quite  forgot  she  had  just  recommended  him 
to  do  something  of  this  very  kind. 

Presently  she  stole  a  look.  His  fine  ruddy 
cheek  was  pale ;  his  manly  brown  eyes  were 
moist ;  yet  a  gloomy  and  resolute  expression  on 
his  tight-drawn  lips.  She  looked  at  him  side- 
long, and  thought  how  often  he  had  ridden  thir- 
ty miles  on  that  very  mare  to  get  a  word  with 
her  at  the  shrubbery-gate.  And  now  the  mare 
to  be  sold!  The  man  to  go  broken-hearted  to 
sea — perhaps  to  his  death !  Her  good  heart  be- 
gan to  yearn. 

"Griffith," said  she,  softly,  "it  is  not  as  if  I 
were  going  to  wed  any  body  else.  Is  it  nothing 
to  be  preferred  by  her  you  say  you  love  ?  If  I 
were  you,  I  would  do  nothing  rash.  Why  not 
give  me  a  little  time  ?  In  truth,  I  hardly  know 
my  own  mind  about  it  two  days  together." 

"Kate,"  said  the  young  man,  firmly,  "I  am 
courting  you  this  two  years.  If  I  wait  two 
years  more,  it  will  be  but  to  see  the  right  man 
come  and  carry  you  in  a  month ;  for  so  girls  are 
won,  when  they  are  won  at  all.  Your  sister  that 
is  married  and  dead,  she  held  Josh  Pitt  in  hand 
for  years  ;  and  what  is  the  upshot  ?  Why,  he 
wears  the  willow  for  her  to  this  day ;  and  her 
husband  married  again,  before  her  grave  was 
green.  Nay,  I  have  done  all  an  honest  man  can 
to  woo  you ;  so  take  me  now,  or  let  me  go." 

At  this,  Kate  began  to  waver  secretly,  and 
ask  herself  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to 
yield,  since  he  was  so  abominably  resolute. 

But  the  unlucky  fellow  did  not  leave  well 
alone.     He  went  on  to  say, 

"  Once  out  of  sight  of  this  place,  I  may  cure 
myself  of  my  fancy.     Here  I  never  could." 

"Oh,"  said  Catharine,  directly,  "  if  you  are  so 
bent  on  being  cured,  it  would  not  become  me  to 
say  nay. " 

Griffith  Gaunt  bit  his  lip  and  hung  his  head, 
and  made  no  reply. 

The  patience  with  which  he  received  her  hard 
speech  was  more  apparent  than  real ;  but  it  told. 
Catharine,  receiving  no  fresh  provocation,  re- 
lented again  of  her  own  accord,  and,  after  a  con- 
siderable silence,  whispered,  softly, 

"  Think  how  we  should  all  miss  you." 

Here  was  an  overture  to  reconciliation.  But, 
unfortunately,  it  brought  out  what  had  long  been 
rankling  in  Griffith's  mind,  and  was,  in  fact,  the 
real  cause  of  the  misunderstanding. 

"  Oh, "  said  he,  "  those  I  care  for  will  soon 
find  another  to  take  my  place !  Soon  ?  quotha. 
They  have  not  waited  till  I  was  gone  for  that. " 

"Ah,  indeed !"  said  Catharine,  with  some  sur- 
prise ;  then,  like  the  quick-witted  girl  she  was, 
"  so  this  is  what  all  the  coil  is  about." 

She  then,  with  a  charming  smile,  begged  him 
to  inform  her  who  was  his  destined  successor  in 
her  esteem.  Griffith  colored  purple  at  her  cool 
hypocrisy  (for  such  he  considered  it),  and  re- 
plied, almost  fiercely, 

"Who  but  that  young  black-a-vised  George 
Neville,  that  you  have  been  coquetting  with  this 
month  past — and  danced  all  night  with  him  at 
Lady  Munster's  ball,  you  did." 


Catharine  blushed,  and  said,  deprecatingly, 

1 '  You  were  not  there,  Griffith,  or  to  be  sure  I 
had  not  danced  with  him." 

"And  he  toasts  you  by  name,  wherever  he 
goes." 

"  Can  I  help  that  ?  Wait  till  I  toast  him,  be- 
fore you  make  yourself  ridiculous,  and  me  very 
angry — about  nothing." 

Griffith,  sticking  to'his  one  idea,  replied,  dog- 
gedly, 

"Mistress  Alice  Peyton  shilly-shallied  with 
her  true  lover  for  years,  till  Richard  Hilton  came, 
that  was  not  fit  to  tie  his  shoes ;  and  then — " 

Catharine  cut  him  short, 

"Affront  me,  if  nothing  less  will  serve;  but 
spare  my  sister  in  her  grave." 

She  began  the  sentence  angrily,  but  concluded 
it  in  a  broken  voice.  Griffith  was  half  disarm- 
ed ;  but  only  half.     He  answered,  sullenly, 

"  She  did  not  die  till  she  had  jilted  an  honest 
gentleman  and  broken  his  heart,  and  married  a 
sot,  to  her  cost.  And  you  are  of  her  breed, 
when  all  is  done ;  and  now  that  young  coxcomb 
has  come,  like  Dick  Hilton,  between  you  and 
me." 

' '  But  I  do  not  encourage  him. " 

"You  do  not  c&scourage  him,"  retorted  Grif- 
fith, ' '  or  he  would  not  be  so  hot  after  you.  Were 
you  ever  the  woman  to  say, '  I  have  a  servant  al- 
ready that  loves  me  dear  ?'  That  one  frank  word 
had  sent  him  packing." 

Miss  Peyton  colored,  and  the  water  came  into 
her  eyes. 

' '  I  may  have  been  imprudent,"  she  murmured. 
"The  young  gentleman  made  me  smile  with  his 
extravagance.  I  never  thought  to  be  misunder- 
stood by  him,  far  less  by  you."  Then,  suddenly, 
as  bold  as  brass,  ' '  It's  all  your  fault ;  if  he  had 
the  power  to  make  you  uneasy,  why  did  you  not 
check  me  before  ?" 

"  Ay,  forsooth,  and  have  it  cast  in  my  teeth  I 
was  a  jealous  monster,  and  played  the  tyrant  be- 
fore my  time.  A  poor  fellow  scarce  knows  what 
to  be  at  that  loves  a  coquette." 

"Coquette  I  am  none, " replied  the  lady,  bri- 
dling magnificently. 

Griffith  took  no  notice  of  this  interruption .  lie 
proceeded  to  say  that  he  had  hitherto  enduffed 
this  intrusion  of  a  rival  in  silence,  though  with  a 
sore  heart,  hoping  his  patience  might  touch  her, 
or  the  fire  go  out  of  itself.  But  at  last,  unable  to 
bear  it  any  longer  in  silence,  he  had  shown  his 
wound  to  one  he  knew  could  feel  for  him,  his 
poor  friend  Pitt.  Pitt  had  then  let  him  know 
that  his  own  mistake  had  been  over-confidence 
in  Alice  Peyton's  constancy. 

"He  said  to  me,  'Watch your  Kate  close,  and, 
at  the  first  blush  of  a  rival,  say  you  to  her,  Part 
with  him,  or  part  with  me.'  " 

Catharine  pinned  him  directly. 

' '  And  this  is  how  you  take  Joshua  Pitt's  ad- 
vice— by  offering  to  run  away  from  this  sorry 
rival." 

The  shrewd  reply,  and  a  curl  of  the  lip,  half 
arch,  half  contemptuous,  that  accompanied  the 
thrust,  staggered  the  less  ready  Griffith.  He  got 
puzzled,  and  showed  it. 

"Well,  but,"  stammered  he  at  last,  "your 
spirit  is  high ;  I  was  mostly  afeard  to  put  it  so 
plump  to  you.  So  I  thought  I  would  go"  about 
a  bit.  However,  it  comes  to  the  same  thing ;  for 
this  I  do  know — that,  if  you  refuse  me  your  hand 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


this  day,  it  is  to  give  it  to  a  new  acquaintance,  as 
your  Alice  did  before  you.  And  if  it  is  to  be  so, 
'tis  best  for  me  to  be  gone :  best  for  him,  and  best 
for  you.  You  don't  know  me,  Kate ;  for,  as  clev- 
er as  you  are,  at  the  thought  of  your  playing  me 
false,  after  all  these  years,  and  marrying  that 
George  Neville,  my  heart  turns  to  ice,  and  then 
to  fire,  and  my  head  seems  ready  to  burst,  and 
my  hands  to  do  mad  and  bloody  acts.  Ay,  I  feel 
I  should  kill  him,  or  you,  or  both,  at  the  church- 
porch.     Ah!" 

He  suddenly  griped  her  arm,  and  at  the  same 
time  involuntarily  checked  his  mare. 

Both  horses  stopped. 

She  raised  her  head  with  an  inquiring  look, 
and  saw  her  lover's  face  discolored  with  passion, 
and  so  strangely  convulsed  that  she  feared  at 
first  he  was  in  a  fit,  or  stricken  with  death  or 
palsy. 

She  uttered  a  cry  of  alarm,  and  stretched  forth 
her  hand  toward  him. 

But  the  next  moment  she  drew  it  back  from 
him ;  for,  following  his  eye,  she  discerned  the 
cause  of  his  ghastly  look.  Her  father's  house 
stood  at  the  end  of  the  avenue  they  had  just  en- 
tered ;  but  there  was  another  approach  to  it, 
namely,  by  a  bridle-road  at  right  angles  to  the 
avenue  or  main  entrance,  and  up  that  bridle-road 
a  gentleman  was  walking  his  horse,  and  bid  fair 
to  meet  them  at  the  hall  door. 

It  was  young  Neville.  There  was  no  mistak- 
ing his  piebald  charger  for  any  other  animal  in 
that  county. 

Kate  Peyton  glanced  from  lover  to  lover,  and 
shuddered  at  Griffith.  She  was  familiar  with 
petty  jealousy  ;  she  had  even  detected  it  pinch- 
ing or  coloring  many  a  pretty  face  that  tried  very 
hard  to  hide  it  all  the  time.  But  that  was  noth- 
ing to  what  she  saw  now :  hitherto  she  had  but 
beheld  the  feeling  of  jealousy ;  but  now  she  wit- 
nessed the  livid  passion  of  jealousy  writhing  in 
every  lineament  of  a  human  face.  That  terrible 
passion  had  transfigured  its  victim  in  a  moment : 
the  ruddy,  genial,  kindly  Griffith,  with  his  soft 
brown  eye,  was  gone,  and  in  his  place  lowered  a 
face  older,  and  discolored,  and  convulsed,  and  al- 
most demoniacal. 

Women  (wiser,  perhaps,  in  this  than  men)  take 
their  strongest  impressions  by  the  eye,  not  ear. 
Catharine,  I  say,  looked  at  him  she  had  hitherto 
thought  she  knew — looked  and  feared  him.  And 
even  while  she  looked  and  shuddered,  Griffith 
spurred  his  mare  sharply,  and  then  drew  her 
head  across  the  gray  gelding's  path.  It  was  an 
instinctive  impulse  to  bar  the  lady  he  loved  from 
taking  another  step  toward  the  place  where  his 
rival  awaited  her. 

"  I  can  not  bear  it,"  he  gasped.  "  Choose  you 
now,  once  for  all,  between  that  puppy  there  and 
me  :"  and  he  pointed  with  his  riding- whip  at  his 
rival,  and  waited  with  his  teeth  clenched  for  her 
decision. 

The  movement  was  rapid,  the  gesture  large 
and  commanding,  and  the  words  manly ;  for  what 
gays  the  fighting  poet  ? 

"He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 
Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  fears  to  put  it  to  the  touch, 
To  win  or  lose  it  all." 


CHAPTER  II. 

Miss  Peyton  drew  herself  up  and  back  by  one 
motion,  like  a  queen  at  bay;  but  still  she  eyed 
him  with  a  certain  respect,  and  was  careful  now 
not  to  provoke  nor  pain  him  needlessly. 

"I  prefer  you — though  you  speak  harshly  to 
me  sir, "  said  she,  with  gentle  dignity. 

"Then  give  me  your  hand,  with  that  man  in 
sight,  and  end  my  torments ;  promise  to  marry 
me  this  very  week.  Ah !  Kate,  have  pity  on 
your  poor,  faithful  servant,  who  has  loved  you  so 
long!" 

"  I  do,  Griffith,  I  do," said  she,  sweetly ;  "but 
I  shall  never  marry  now.  Only  set  your  mind 
at  rest  about  Mr.  Neville  there.  He  has  never 
asked  me,  for  one  thing." 

"  He  soon  will,  then." 

"  No,  no  ;  I  declare  I  will  be  very  cool  to  him, 
after  what  you  have  said  to  me.  But  I  can  not 
marry  you,  neither.  I  dare  not.  Listen  to  me, 
and  do,  pray,  govern  your  temper,  as  I  am  doing 
mine.  I  have  often  read  of  men  with  a  passion 
for  jealousy — I  mean,  men  whose  jealousy  feeds 
upon  air,  and  defies  reason.  I  know  you  now 
for  such  a  man.  Marriage  would  not  cure  this 
madness ;  for  wives  do  not  escape  admiration 
any  more  than  maids.  Something  tells  me  you 
would  be  jealous  of  every  fool  that  paid  me  some 
stale  compliment,  jealous  of  my  female  friends, 
and  jealous  of  my  relations,  and  perhaps  jealous 
of  your  own  children,  and  of  that  holy,  perse- 
cuted Church  which  must  still  have  a  large  share 
of  my  heart.  No,  no ;  your  face  and  your  words 
have  shown  me  a  precipice.  I  tremble  and  draw 
back,  and  now  I  never  will  marry  at  all :  from 
this  day  I  give  myself  to  the  Church. " 

Griffith  did  not  believe  one  word  of  all  this. 

"That  is  your  answer  to  me,"  said  he,  bitterly. 
"  When  the  right  man  puts  the  question  (and  he 
is  not  far  off)  you  will  tell  another  tale.  You 
take  me  for  a  fool,  and  you  mock  me ;  you  are 
not  the  lass  to  die  an  old  maid,  and  men  are 
not  the  fools  to  let  you.  With  faces  like  yours, 
the  new  servant  comes  before  the  old  one  is  gone. 
Well,  I  have  got  my  answer.  County  Cumber- 
land, you  are  no  place  for  me !  The  ways  and 
the  fields  we  two  have  ridden  together — oh,  how 
could  I  bear  their  sight  without  my  dear  ?  Why, 
what  a  poor-spirited  fool  I  am  to  stay  and  whine ! 
Come,  mistress,  your  lover  waits  you  there,  and 
your  discarded  servant  knows  good-breeding :  he 
leaves  the  country  not  to  spoil  your  sport." 

Catharine  panted  heavily. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  she,  "then  it  is  your  doing, 
not  mine.  Will  you  not  even  shake  hands  with 
me,  Griffith  ?" 

"I  were  a  brute  else,"  sighed  the  jealous  one, 
with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling.  "I  have 
spent  the  happiest  hours  of  my  life  beside  you. 
If  I  loved  thee  less,  I  had  never  left  thee. " 

He  clung  a  little  while  to  her  hands,  more 
like  a  drowning  man  than  any  thing  else,  then 
let  them  go,  and  suddenly  shook  his  clenched 
fist  in  the  direction  of  George  Neville,  and  cried 
out  with  a  savage  yell, 

1 '  My  curse  on  him  that  parts  us  twain !  And 
you,  Kate,  may  God  bless  you  single,  and  curse 
you  married !  and  that  is  my  last  word  in  Cum- 
berland." 

"  Amen !"  said  Catharine,  resignedly. 

And  even  with  this  they  wheeled  their  horses 


10 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


apart,  and  rode  away  from  each  other  :  she  very 
pale,  but  erect  with  wounded  pride  ;  he  reeling 
in  his  saddle  like  a  drunken  man. 

And  so  Griffith  Gaunt,  stung  mad  by  jeal- 
ousy, affronted  his  sweetheart,  the  proudest  girl 
in  Cumberland,  and,  yielding  to  his  foible,  lied 
from  his  pain. 

Our  foibles  are  our  manias. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Miss  Peyton  was  shocked  and  grieved  ;  but 
she  was  affronted  and  wounded.  Now  anger 
seems  to  have  some  fine  buoyant  quality,  which 
makes  it  rise  and  come  uppermost  in  an  agitated 
mind.  She  rode  proudly  into  the  court-yard  of 
her  father's  house,  and  would  not  look  once  be- 
hind to  see  the  last  of  her  perverse  lover. 

The  old  groom,  Joe,  who  had  taught  her  to 
ride  when  she  was  six  years  old,  saw  her  com- 
ing, and  hobbled  out  to  hold  her  horse  while  she 
alighted. 

"Mistress  Kate,"  said  he,  "have  you  seen 
Master  Griffith  Gaunt  any  wheres  ?" 

The  young  lady  colored  at  this  question. 

"Why?"  said  she. 

"Why?"  repeated  Old  Joe,  a  little  contemp- 
tuously. "Why,  where  have  you  been  not  to 
know  the  country  is  out  after  un  ?  First  corned 
Jock  Dennet,  with  his  horse  all  in  a  lather,  to 
say  old  Mr.  Charlton  was  took  ill,  and  had 
asked  for  Master  Griffith.  I  told  him  to  go  to 
Dogmore  Copse :  '  Our  Kate  is  a-hunting  to- 
day,' says  I ;  '  and  your  Griffith,  he  is  sure  not 
to  be  far  from  her  gelding's  tail ;'  a  sticks  in  his 
spurs  and  away  a  goes.  What,  ha'n't  you  seen 
Jock,  neither?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  Miss  Peyton,  impatiently. 
"  What,  is  there  any  thing  the  matter?" 

"The  matter,  quo'  she!  Why,  Jock  hadn't 
been  gone  an  hour  when  in  rides  the  new  foot- 
man all  in  a  lather,  and  brings  a  letter  for  Mas- 
ter Griffith  from  the  old  gentleman's  house- 
keeper. '  You  leave  the  letter  with  me,  in 
case,'  says  I,  and  I  sends  him  a-field  after 
t'other.     Here  be  the  letter." 

He  took  off  his  cap  and  produced  the  letter. 

Catharine  started  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"Alack!"  said  she,  "this  is  a  heavy  day. 
Look,  Joe ;  sealed  with  black.  Poor  Cousin 
Charlton  !     I  doubt  he  is  no  more." 

Joe  shook  his  head  expressively,  and  told  her 
the  butcher  had  come  from  that  part  not  ten 
minutes  ago,  with  word  that  the  blinds  were  all 
down  at  Bolton  Hall. 

Poor  human  nature !  A  gleam  of  joy  shot 
through  Catharine's  heart ;  this  sad  news  would 
compel  Griffith  to  stay  at  home  and  bury  his 
benefactor ;  and  that  delay  would  give  him  time 
to  reflect ;  and,  somehow  or  other,  she  felt  sure 
it  would  end  in  his  not  going  at  all. 

But  these  thoughts  had  no  sooner  passed 
through  her  than  she  was  ashamed  of  them  and 
of  herself.  What !  welcome  that  poor  old  man's 
death  because  it  would  keep  her  cross-grained 
lover  at  home  ?  Her  cheeks  burned  with  shame ; 
and,  with  a  superfluous  exercise  of  self-defense, 
she  retired  from  Old  Joe,  lest  he  should  divine 
what  was  passing  in  her  mind. 

But  she  was  so  rapt  in  thought  that  she  car- 
ried the  letter  away  with  her  unconsciously. 


As  she  passed  through  the  hall,  she  heard 
George  Neville  and  her  father  in  animated  con- 
versation. She  mounted  the  stairs  softly,  and 
went  into  a  little  boudoir  of  her  own  on  the  first 
floor,  and  sat  down.  The  house  stood  high, 
and  there  was  a  very  expansive  and  beautiful 
view  of  the  country  from  this  window.  She  sat 
down  by  it  and  drooped,  and  looked  wistfully 
through  the  window,  and  thought  of  the  past, 
and  fell  into  a  sad  reverie.  Pity  began  to  soften 
her  pride  and  anger,  and  presently  two  gentle 
tears  dimmed  her  glorious  eyes  a  moment,  then 
stole  down  her  delicate  cheeks. 

While  she  sat  thus  lost  in  the  past,  jovial 
voices  and  creaking  boots  broke  suddenly  upon 
her  ear,  and  came  up  the  stairs ;  they  jarred 
upon  her  ;  so  she  cast  one  last  glance  out  of  the 
window,  and  rose  to  get  out  of  their  way,  if  pos- 
sible. But  it  was  too  late ;  a  heavy  step  came 
to  the  door,  and  a  ruddy,  Port-drinking  face 
peeped  in.     It  was  her  father. 

"See-ho!"  roared  the  jovial  squire.  "I've 
found  the  hare  on  her  form ;  bide  thou  outside 
a  moment." 

And  he  entered  the  room ;  but  he  had  no 
sooner  closed  the  door  than  his  whole  manner 
changed  from  loud  and  jovial  to  agitated  and 
subdued. 

"Kate,  my  girl,"  said  he,  piteously,  "I  have 
been  a  bad  father  to  thee.  I  have  spent  all  the 
money  that  should  have  been  thine ;  thy  poor 
father  can  scarce  look  thee  in  the  face.  So  now 
I  bring  thee  a  good  husband ;  be  a  good  child 
now,  and  a  dutiful.  Neville's  Court  is  his,  and 
Neville's  Cross  will  be,  by  the  entail ;  and  so 
will  the  baronetcy.  I  shall  see  my  girl  Lady 
Neville." 

"Never,  papa,  never!"  cried  Kate. 

"Hush!  hush!"  said  the  squire,  and  put  up 
his  hand  to  her  in  great  agitation  and  alarm  ; 
"hush,  or  he  will  hear  ye.  Kate,"  he  whis- 
pered, ' '  are  you  mad  ?  Little  I  thought,  when 
he  asked  to  see  me,  it  was  to  offer  marriage. 
Be  a  good  girl  now;  don't  you  quarrel  with 
good  luck.  You  are  not  fit  to  be  poor;  and 
you  have  made  enemies  :  do  but  think  how  they 
will  flout  you  when  I  die,  and  Bill's  jade  of  a 
wife  puts  you  to  the  door,  as  she  will.  And 
now  yon  can  triumph  over  them  all,  my  Lady 
Neville — and  make  your  poor  father  happy,  my 
Lady  Neville.  Enough  said,  for  I  promised 
you ;  so  don't  go  and  make  a  fool  of  me,  and 
yourself  into  the  bargain.  And — and — a  word 
in  your  ear  :  he  hath  lent  me  a  hundred  pounds." 

At  this  climax  the  father  hung  his  head  ;  the 
daughter  Avinced  and  moaned  out,  "Papa,  how 
could  you  ?" 

Mr.  Peyton  had  gradually  descended  to  that 
intermediate  stage  of  degradation,  when  the  sub- 
stance of  dignity  is  all  gone,  but  its  shadow, 
shame,  remains.  He  stamped  impatiently  en 
the  ground,  and  cut  his  humiliation  short  by 
rushing  out  of  the  room. 

' '  Here,  try  your  own  luck,  youngster, "  lie 
cried  at  the  door.      "  She  knows  my  mind." 

He  trampled  down  the  stairs,  and  young 
George  Neville  knocked  respectfully  at  the  door, 
though  it  was  half  open,  and  came  in  Avith 
youth's  light  foot,  and  a  handsome  face  flushed 
into  beauty  by  love  and  hope. 

Miss  Peyton's  eye  just  swept  him  as  he  en- 
tered, and  with  the  same  movement  she  turned 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


11 


away  her  fair  head  and  blushing  cheek  toward 
the  window ;  yet — must  I  own  it  ? — she  quietly 
moulded  the  letter  that  lay  in  her  lap,  so  that 
the  address  was  no  longer  visible  to  the  new- 
comer. 

(Small  secrecy,  verging  on  deceit,  you  are 
bred  in  woman's  bones !) 

This  blushing  and  averted  cheek  is  one  of 
those  equivocal  receptions  that  have  puzzled 
many  a  sensible  man.  It  is  a  sign  of  coy  love ; 
it  is  a  sign  of  gentle  aversion  ;  our  mode  of  in- 
terpreting it  is  simple  and  judicious  :  whichever 
it  happens  to  be,  we  go  and  take  it  for  the  other. 

The  brisk,  bold  wooer  that  now  engaged  Kate 
Peyton  was  not  the  man  to  be  dashed  by  a 
woman's  coyness.  Handsome,  daring,  good-hu- 
mored, and  vain,  he  had  every  thing  in  his  favor 
but  his  novelty. 

Look  at  Kate!  her  eye  lingers  wistfully  on 
that  disconsolate  horseman  whose  every  step 
takes  him  farther  from  her ;  but  George  has  her 
ear,  and  draws  closer  and  closer  to  it,  and  pours 
love's  mellow  murmurs  into  it. 

He  told  her  he  had  made  the  grand  tour,  and 
S3en  the  beauties  of  every  land,  but  none  like 
her ;  other  ladies  had  certainly  pleased  his  eye 
for  a  moment,  but  she  alone  had  conquered  his 
heart.  He  said  many  charming  things  to  her, 
such  as  Griffith  Gaunt  had  never  said.  Among 
the  rest,  he  assured  her  the  beauty  of  her  person 
would  not  alone  have  fascinated  him  so  deeply ; 
but  he  had  seen  the  beauty  of  her  mind  in  those 
eyes  of  hers,  that  seemed  not  eyes,  but  souls ; 
and,  begging  her  pardon  for  his  presumption,  he 
aspired  to  wed  her  mind. 

Such  ideas  had  often  risen  in  Kate's  own 
mind,  but  to  hear  them  from  a  man  was  new. 
She  looked  askant  through  the  window  at  the 
lessening  Griffith,  and  thought  "how  the  grand 
tour  improves  a  man !"  and  said,  as  coldly  as  she 
could,  "I  esteem  you,  sir,  and  can  not  but  be 
flattered  by  sentiments  so  superior  to  those  I  am 
used  to  hear  ;  but  let  this  go  no  farther.  I  shall 
never  marry  now." 

Instead  of  being  angry  at  this,  or  telling  her 
she  wanted  to  marry  somebody  else,  as  the  inju- 
dicious Griffith  had  done,  young  Neville  had  the 
address  to  treat  it  as  an  excellent  jest,  and  drew 
such  comical  pictures  of  all  the  old  maids  in  the 
neighborhood  that  she  could  not  help  smiling. 

But  the  moment  she  smiled,  the  inflammable 
George  made  hot  love  to  her  again.  Then  she 
besought  him  to  leave  her,  piteously.  Then  he 
said,  cheerfully,  he  would  leave  her  as  soon  as 
ever  she  had  promised  to  be  his.  At  that  she 
turned  sullen  and  haughty,  and  looked  through 
the  window  and  took  no  notice  of  him  whatever. 
Then,  instead  of  being  discouraged  or  mortified, 
he  showed  imperturbable  confidence  and  good- 
humor,  and  begged  archly  to  know  what  inter- 
esting object  was  in  sight  from  that  window. 
On  this  she  blushed  and  withdrew  her  eyes  from 
the  window,  and  so  they  met  his.  On  that  he 
threw  himself  on  his.  knees  (custom  of  the  day), 
and  wooed  her  with  such  a  burst  of  passionate 
and  tearful  eloquence  that  she  began  to  pity 
him,  and  said,  lifting  her  lovely  eyes, 

"Alas !  I  was  born  to  make  all  those  I  esteem 
unhappy!"  and  she  sighed  deeply. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  he ;  "  you  were  bom, 
like  the  sun,  to  bless  all  you  shine  upon.     Sweet 


Mistress  Kate,  I  love  you  as  these  country  boors 
can  never  be  taught  to  love.  I  lay  my  heart,  my 
name,  my  substance,  at  your  feet ;  you  shall  not 
be  loved — you  shall  be  worshiped.  Ah!  turn 
those  eyes,  brimful  of  soul,  on  me  again,  and  let 
me  try  and  read  in  them  that  one  day,  no  matter 
how  distant,  the  delight  of  my  eyes,  the  joy  of  all 
my  senses,  the  pride  of  Cumberland,  the  pearl  of 
England,  the  flower  of  womankind,  the  rival  of 
the  angels,  the  darling  of  George  Neville's  heart, 
will  be  George  Neville's  wife." 

Fire  and  water  were  in  his  eyes,  passion  in 
every  tone ;  his  manly  hand  grasped  hers  and 
trembled,  and  drew  her  gently  toward  him. 

Her  bosom  heaved ;  his  passionate  male  voice 
and  touch  electrified  her,  and  made  her  flutter. 

"Spare  me  this  pain, "she  faltered;  and  she 
looked  through  the  window  and  thought,  "  Poor 
Griffith  was  right,  after  all,  and  I  was  wrong. 
He  had  cause   for  jealousy,  and   cause  for 

FEAR." 

And  then  she  pitied  him  who  panted  at  her 
side,  and  then  she  was  sorry  for  him  who  rode 
away  disconsolate,  still  lessening  to  her  eye ;  and 
what  with  this  conflict  and  the  emotion  her  quar- 
rel with  Griffith  had  already  caused  her,  she 
leaned  her  head  back  against  the  shutter,  and 
began  to  sob  low,  but  almost  hysterically. 

N*)w  Mr.  George  Neville  was  neither  a  fool 
nor  a  novice ;  if  he  had  never  been  downright  in 
love  before  (which  I  crave  permission  to  doubt), 
he  had  gone  far  enough  on  that  road  to  make 
one  Italian  lady,  two  French,  one  Austrian,  and 
one  Creole,  in  love  with  him  ;  and  each  of  these 
love-affairs  had  given  him  fresh  insight  into  the 
ways  of  woman.  Enlightened  by  so  many  bitter- 
sweet experiences,  he  saw  at  once  that  there  was 
something  more  going  on  inside  Kate's  heaving 
bosom  than  he  could  have  caused  by  offering  her 
his  hand.  He  rose  from  his  knees  and  leaned 
against  the  opposite  shutter,  and  fixed  his  eyes  a 
little  sadly,  but  very  observantly,  on  her,  as  she 
leaned  back  against  the  shutter,  sobbing  low,  but 
hysterically,  and  quivering  all  over. 

"There's  some  other  man  at  the  bottom  of 
this,"  thought  George  Neville. 

"Mistress  Kate, "  said  he,  gently,  " I  do  not 
come  here  to  make  you  Aveep.  I  love  you  like  a 
gentleman.  If  you  love  another,  take  courage, 
tell  me  so,  and  don't  let  your  father  constrain 
your  inclinations.  Dearly  as  I  love  you,  I  would 
not  wed  your  pei'son,  and  your  heart  another's: 
that  would  be  too  cruel  to  you,  and" '(drawing 
himself  up  with  sudden  majesty)  "too  unjust  to 
myself. " 

Kate  looked  up  at  him  through  her  tears,  and 
admired  this  man,  who  could  love  ardently,  yet 
be  proud  and  just.  And  if  this  appeal  to  her 
candor  had  been  made  yesterday,  she  would  have 
said, frankly,  "There  is  one  I — esteem."  But, 
since  the  quarrel,  she  would  not  own  to  herself, 
far  less  to  another,  that  she  loved  a  man  who 
had  turned  his  back  upon  her.     So  she  parried. 

"  There  is  no  one  I  love  enough  to  wed,"  said 
she.  "I  am  a  cold-hearted  girl,  born  to  give 
pain  to  my  betters.  But  I  shall  do  something 
desperate  to  end  all  this." 

"All  what?"  said  he,  keenly. 

' '  The  whole  thing :  my  unprofitable  life. " 

"  Mistress  Kate,"  said  Neville,  "I  asked  you, 
was  there  another  man.  If  you  had  answered 
me,  '  In  truth  there  is,  but  he  b  poor  and  my 


12 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


father  is  averse  or  the  like,'  then  I  would  have 
secretly  sought  that  man,  and,  as  I  am  very  rich, 
you  should  have  been  happy. " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Neville,  that  is  very  generous,  but 
how  meanly  you  must  think  of  me !" 

"And  what  a  bungler  you  must  think  me !  I 
tell  you,  you  should  never  have  known.  But  let 
that  pass  ;  you  have  answered  my  question ;  and 
you  say  there  is  no  man  you  love.  Then  I  say 
you  shall  be  Dame  Neville. " 

"What,  whether  I  will  or  no?" 

"Yes  ;  whether  you  think  you  will  or  no." 

Catharine  turned  her  dreamy  eyes  on  him. 

*  *  You  have  had  a  good  master.  Why  did  you 
not  come  to  me  sooner  ?" 

She  was  thinking  more  of  him  than  of  herself, 
and,  in  fact,  paying  too  little  heed  to  her  words. 
But  she  had  no  sooner  uttered  this  inadvertent 
speech  than  she  felt  she  had  said  too  much. 
She  blushed  rosy  red,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  in  the  most  charming  confusion. 

"Sweetest,  it  is  not  an  hour  too  late,  as  you 
do  not  love  another,"  was  stout  George  Neville's 
reply. 

But  nevertheless  the  cunning  rogue  thought  it 
safest  to  temporize,  and  put  his  coy  mistress  off 
her  guard.  So  he  ceased  to  alarm  her  by  press- 
ing the  question  of  marriage,  but  seduced  her 
into  a  charming  talk,  where  the  topics  were  not 
so  personal,  and  only  the  tones  of  his  voice  and 
the  glances  of  his  expressive  eyes  were  caress- 
ing. He  was  on  his  mettle  to  please  her  by 
hook  or  by  crook,  and  was  delightful,  irresisti- 
ble. He  set  her  at  ease,  and  she  began  to  listen 
more,  and  even  to  smile  faintly,  and  to  look 
through  the  window  a  little  less  perseveringly. 

Suddenly  the  spell  was  broken  for  a  while. 

And  by  whom  ? 

By  the  other. 

Ay,  you  may  well  stare.  It  sounds  strange, 
but  it  is  true,  that  the  poor  forlorn  horseman, 
hanging  like  a  broken  man,  as  he  was,  over  his 
tired  horse,  and  wending  his  solitary  way  from 
her  he  loved,  and  resigning  the  field,  like  a 
goose,  to  the  very  rival  he  feared,  did  yet  (like 
the  retiring  Parthian)  shoot  an  arrow  into  that 
pretty  boudoir  and  hit  both  his  sweetheart  and 
his  rival — hit  them  hard  enough  to  spoil  their 
sport,  and  make  a  little  mischief  between  them 
— for  that  afternoon,  at  all  events. 

The  arrow  came  into  the  room  after  this  fash- 
ion. 

Kate  was  sitting  in  a  very  feminine  attitude. 
When  a  man  wants  to  look  in  any  direction,  he 
turns  his  body  and  his  eye  the  same  way,  and 
"loes  it ;  but  women  love  to  cast  oblique  regards  ; 
and  this  their  instinct  is  a  fruitful  source  of  their 
graceful  and  characteristic  postures. 

Kate  Peyton  was  at  this  moment  a  statue  of 
her  sex.  Her  fair  head  leaned  gently  back 
against  the  corner  of  the  window-shutter ;  her 
pretty  feet  and  fair  person  in  general  were  oppo- 
site George  Neville,  who  sat  facing  the  window, 
but  in  the  middle  of  the  room  ;  her  arms,  half 
pendent,  half  extended,  Avent  listlessly  aslant  her, 
and  somewhat  to  the  right  of  her  knees,  yet,  by 
an  exquisite  turn  of  the  neck,  her  gray  eyes  con- 
trived to  be  looking  dreamily  out  of  the  window 
to  her  left.  Still,  in  this  figure,  that  pointed  one 
way  and  looked  another,  there  was  no  distortion  ; 
all  was  easy,  and  full  of  that  subtile  grace  we 
artists  call  repose. 


But  suddenly  she  dissolved  this  feminine  atti- 
tude, rose  to  her  feet,  and  interrupted  her  wooer 
civilly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  she,'"  but  can  you  tell  me 
which  way  that  road  on  the  hill  leads  to  ?" 

Her  companion  stared  a  little  at  so  sudden  a 
turn  in  the  conversation,  but  replied  by  asking 
her,  with  perfect  good -humor,  what  road  she 
meant. 

"  The  one  that  gentleman  on  horseback  has  just 
taken.  Surely,"  she  continued,  "that  road  does 
not  take  to  Bolton  Hall." 

"Certainly  not,"  said  George,  following  the 
direction  of  her  finger.  "Bolton  Hall  lies  to 
the  right.  That  road  takes  to  the  sea-coast  by 
Otterbury  and  Stanhope." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Kate.  "How  unfortu- 
nate !  He  can  not  know ;  but,  indeed,  how  should 
he?" 

"  Who  can  not  know  ?  and  what  ?  You  speak 
in  riddles,  mistress.  And  how  pale  you  are! 
Are  you  ill  ?" 

" No,  not  ill,  sir,"  faltered  Kate,  "but  you  see 
me  much  discomposed.  My  cousin  Charlton 
died  this  day,  and  the  news  met  me  at  the  very 
door. "     She  could  say  no  more. 

Mr.  Neville,  on  hearing  this  news,  began  to 
make  many  excuses  for  having  inadvertently  in- 
truded himself  upon  her  on  such  a  day ;  but,  in 
the  midst  of  his  apologies,  she  suddenly  looked 
him  full  in  the  face,  and  said,  with  nervous  ab- 
ruptness, 

4 '  You  talk  like  a  preux  chevalier.  I  wonder 
Avhether  you  would  ride  five  or  six  miles  to  do 
me  a  service. " 

"Ay,  a  thousand !"  said  the  young  man,  glow- 
ing with  pleasure.     "  What  is  "to  do  ?" 

Kate  pointed  through  the  window. 

' '  You  see  that  gentleman  on  horseback.  Well, 
I  happen  to  know  that  he  is  leaving  the  country ; 
he  thinks  that  he — that  I — that  Mr.  Charlton 
has  many  years  to  live.  He  must  be  told  Mr. 
Charlton  is  dead,  and  his  presence  is  required  at 
Bolton  Hall.  I  should  like  somebody  to  gallop 
after  him,  and  give  him  this  letter;  but  my  own 
horse  is  tired,  and  I  am  tired ;  and,  to  be  frank, 
there  is  a  little  coolness  between  the  gentleman 
himself  and  me.  Oh,  I  wish  him  no  ill,  but 
really  I  am  not  upon  terms — I  do  not  feel  com- 
plaisant enough  to  carry  a  letter  after  him  ;  yet 
I  do  feel  that  he  must  have  it.  Do  not  you  think 
it  would  be  malicious  and  unworthy  in  me  to 
keep  the  news  from  him,  when  I  know  it  is  so  ?" 

Young  Neville  smiled. 

"Nay,  mistress,  why  so  many  words?  Give 
me  your  letter,  and  I  will  soon  overtake  the  gen. 
tleman  :  he  seems  in  no  great  hurry. " 

Kate  thanked  him,  and  made  a  polite  apology 
for  giving  him  so  much  trouble,  and  handed  him 
the  letter.  When  it  came  to  that,  she  held  it 
out  to  him  rather  irresolutely;  but  he  took  it 
promptly,  and  bowed  low,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  day.  She  courtesied  ;  he  marched  off  with 
alacrity.  She  sat  down  again,  and  put  her  head 
in  her  hand  to  think  it  all  over,  and  a  chill 
thought  ran  through  her.  Was  her  conduct 
wise?  What  would  Griffith  think  at  her  em- 
ploying his  rival?  Would  he  not  infer  Neville 
had  entered  her  service  in  more  senses  than  one  ? 
Perhaps  he  would  throw  the  letter  in  the  dirt  in 
a  rage,  and  never  read  it. 

Steps  came  rapidly,  the  door  opened,  and  there 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


13 


was  George  Neville  again,  but  not  the  same 
George  Neville  that  went  out  but  thirty  seconds 
before.  He  stood  in  the  door  looking  very  black, 
and  with  a  sardonic  smile  on  his  lips. 

"An  excellent  jest,  mistress!"  said  he,  ironi- 
cally. 

""Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  the  lady, 
stoutly ;  but  her  red  cheeks  belied  her  assump- 
tion of  innocence. 

"Oh,  not  much,"  said  George,  with  a  bitter 
sneer.  "  It  is  an  old  story ;  only  I  thought  you 
were  nobler  than  the  rest  of  your  sex.  This  let- 
ter is  to  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt." 

"  Well,  sir!"  said  Kate,  with  a  face  of  serene 
and  candid  innocence. 

"  And  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt  is  a  suitor  of  yours." 

' '  Say  was.  He  is  so  no  longer.  He  and  I 
are  out.  But  for  that,  think  you  I  had  even 
listened  to — what  you  have  been  saying  to  me 
this  ever  so  long  ?" 

"Oh,  that  alters  the  case,"  said  George. 
"But  stay!"  and  he  knitted  his  brows  and  re- 
flected. 

Up  to  a  moment  ago,  the  loftiness  of  Catha- 
rine Peyton's  demeanor,  and  the  celestial  some- 
thing in  her  soul-like,  dreamy  eyes,  had  con- 
vinced him  she  was  a  creature  free  from  the 
small  dishonesty  and  lubricity  he  had  noted  in 
so  many  women  otherwise  amiable  and  good. 
But  this  business  of  the  letter  had  shaken  the  il- 
lusion. 

"  Stay !"  said  he,  stiffly.  "  You  say  Mr.  Gaunt 
and  you  are  out  ?" 

Catharine  assented  by  a  movement  of  her  fair 
head. 

"  And  he  is  leaving  the  country.  Perhaps 
this  letter  is  to  keep  him  from  leaving  the  coun- 
try." 

"Only  until  he  has  buried  his  benefactor," 
murmured  Kate,  in  deprecating  accents. 

George  wore  a  bitter  sneer  at  this. 

"Mistress  Kate,"  said  he,  after  a  significant 
pause,  "  do  you  read  Moliere?" 

She  bridled  a  little,  and  would  not  reply.  She 
knew  Moliere  quite  well  enough  not  to  want  his 
wit  leveled  at  her  head. 

"  Do  you  admire  the  character  of  Celimene  ?" 

No  reply. 

"You  do  not.  How  can  you?  She  was  too 
much  your  inferior.  She  never  sent  one  of  her 
lovers  with  a  letter  to  the  other  to  stop  his  flight. 
Well,  you  may  eclipse  Celimene  ;  but  permit  me 
to  remind  you  that  I  am  George  Neville,  and  not 
Georges  Dandin." 

Miss  Peyton  rose  from  her  seat  with  eyes  that 
literally  flashed  fire ;  and — the  horrible  truth 
must  be  told — her  first  wild  impulse  was  to  reply 
to  all  this  Moliere  with  one  cut  of  her  little  riding- 
whip.  But  she  had  a  swift  mind,  and  two  reflec- 
tions entered  it  together  :  first,  that  this  would 
be  unlike  a  gentlewoman ;  secondly,  that  if  she 
whipped  Mr.  Neville,  however  inefficaciously,  he 
would  not  lend  her  his  piebald  horse.  So  she 
took  stronger  measures ;  she  just  sank  down 
again,  and  faltered, 

"I  do  not  understand  these  bitter  words.  I 
have  no  lover  at  all ;  I  never  will  have  one  again. 
But  it  is  hard  to  think  I  can  not  make  a  friend 
nor  keep  a  friend"— and  so  lifted  up  her  hands, 
and  began  to  cry  piteously.  " 

Then  the  stout  George  was  taken  aback,  and 
made  to  think  himself  a  ruffian. 


"Nay,  do  not  weep  so,  Mistress  Kate,"  said 
he,  hurriedly.  "  Come,  take  courage.  I  am  not 
jealous  of  Mr.  Gaunt — a  man  that  hath  been  two 
years  dangling  after  you,  and  could  not  win  you. 
I  look  but  to  my  own  self-respect  in  the  matter. 
I  know  your  sex  better  than  you  know  your- 
selves. Were  I  to  carry  that  letter,  you  would 
thank  me  now,  but  by-and-by  despise  me.  Now, 
as  I  mean  you  to  be  my  wife,  I  will  not  risk 
your  contempt.  Why  not  take  my  horse,  put 
whom  you  like  upon  him,  and  so  convey  the  let- 
ter to  Mr.  Gaunt  ?" 

Now  this  was  all  the  fair  mourner  wanted ;  so 
she  said, 

"  No,  no,  she  would  not  be  beholden  to  him 
for  any  thing ;  he  had  spoken  harshly  to  her,  and 
misjudged  her  cruelly,  cruelly — oh  !  oh  !  oh!" 

Then  he  implored  her  to  grant  him  this  small 
favor;  then  she  cleared  up,  and  said,  "Well, 
sooner  than  bear  malice,  she  would."  He  thank- 
ed her  for  granting  him  that  favor.  She  went 
off  with  the  letter,  saying, 

"  I  will  be  back  anon." 

But  once  she  got  clear,  she  opened  the  door 
again,  and  peeped  in  at  him  gayly,  and  said  she, 

' '  Why  not  ask  me  who  wrote  the  letter,  be- 
fore you  compared  me  to  that  French  coquette  ?" 
and,  with  this,  made  him  an  arch  courtesy  and 
tripped  away. 

Mr.  George  Neville  opened  his  eyes  with  as- 
tonishment. This  arch  question,  and  Kate's 
manner  of  putting  it,  convinced  him  the  obnox- 
ious missive  was  not  a  love-letter  at  all.  He  was 
sorry  now,  and  vexed  with  himself  for  having 
called  her  a  coquette,  and  made  her  cry.  After 
all,  what  was  the  mighty  favor  she  had  asked  of 
him  ?  To  carry  a  sealed  letter  from  somebody 
or  other  to  a  person  who,  to  be  sure,  had  been 
her  lover,  but  was  so  no  longer — a  simple  act  of 
charity  and  civility ;  and  he  had  refused  it  in 
injurious  terms. 

He  was  glad  he  had  lent  his  horse,  and  al- 
most sorry  he  had  not  taken  the  letter  himself. 

To  these  chivalrous  self-reproaches  succeeded 
an  uneasy  feeling  that  perhaps  the  lady  might 
retaliate  somehow.  It  struck  him,  on  reflection, 
that  the  arch  query  she  had  let  fly  at  him  was 
accompanied  with  a  certain  sparkle  of  the  laugh- 
ing eye,  such  as  ere  now  had,  in  his  experience, 
preceded  a  stroke  of  the  feminine  claw. 

As  he  walked  up  and  down,  uneasy,  awaiting 
the  fair  one's  return,  her  father  came  up,  and 
asked  him  to  dine  and  sleep.  What  made  the 
invitation  more  welcome  was,  that  it  in  reality 
came  from  Kate. 

"  She  tells  me  she  has  borrowed  your  horse," 
said  the  squire;  "so,  says  she,  I  am  bound  to 
take  care  of  you  till  daylight ;  and,  indeed,  our 
ways  are  perilous  at  night." 

"  She  is  an  angel !"  cried  the  lover,  all  his  ar- 
dor revived  by  this  unexpected  trait.  "My  horse, 
my  house,  my  hand,  and  my  heart  are  all  at  her 
service,  by  night  and  day." 

Mr.  Peyton,  to  while  away  the  time  before  din- 
ner, invited  him  to  walk  out  and  see — a  hog, 
deadly  fat,  as  times  went.  But  Neville  denied 
himself  that  satisfaction,  on  the  plea  that  he  had 
his  orders  to  await  Miss  Peyton's  return  where 
he  was.  The  squire  was  amused  at  his  excess- 
ive docility,  and  winked,  as  much  as  to  say,  "I 
have  been  once  upon  a  time  in  your  plight,"  and 
so  went  and  gloried  in  his  hog  alone. 


11 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


The  lover  fell  into  a  delicious  reverie.  He  en- 
joyed, by  anticipation,  the  novel  pleasure  of  an 
evening  passed  all  alone  with  this  charming  girl. 
The  father,  being  friendly  to  his  suit,  would  go 
to  sleep  after  dinner ;  and  then,  by  the  subdued 
light  of  a  wood  fire,  he  would  murmur  his  love 
into  that  sweet  ear  for  hours,  until  the  averted 
head  should  come  round  by  degrees,  and  the  de- 
licious lips  yield  a  coy  assent.  He  resolved  the 
night  should  not  close  till  he  had  surprised,  over- 
powered, and  secured  his  lovely  bride. 

These  soft  meditations  reconciled  him  for  a 
while  to  the  prolonged  absence  of  their  object. 

In  the  midst  of  them,  he  happened  to  glance 
through  the  window ;  and  he  saw  a  sight  that 
took  his  very  breath  away,  and  rooted  him  in 
amazement  to  the  spot.  About  a  mile  from  the 
house,  a  lady  in  a  scarlet  habit  was  galloping 
across  country  as  the  crow  flies.  Hedge,  ditch, 
or  brook,  nothing  stopped  her  an  instant ;  and 
as  for  the  pace, 

"She  seemed  in  running  to  devour  the  way." 

It  was  Kate  Peyton  on  his  piebald  horse. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Griffith  Gaunt,  unknown  to  himself,  had 
lost  temper  as  well  as  heart  before  he  took  the 
desperate  step  of  leaving  the  country.  Now  his 
temper  was  naturally  good  ;  and,  ere  he  had  rid- 
den two  miles,  he  recovered  it.  To  his  cost ; 
for  the  sustaining  force  of  anger  being  gone,  he 
was  alone  with  his  grief.  He  drew  the  rein  half 
mechanically,  and  from  a  spirited  canter  declined 
to  a  walk. 

And  the  slower  he  went,  the  chillier  grew  his 
heart,  till  it  lay  half  ice,  half  lead,  in  his  bosom. 

Parted !  oh,  word  pregnant  with  misery ! 

Never  to  see  those  heavenly  eyes  again,  nor 
hear  that  silver  voice !  Never  again  to  watch 
that  peerless  form  Avalk  the  minuet,  nor  see  it 
lift  the  gray  horse  over  a  fence  with  the  grace 
and  spirit  that  seemed  inseparable  from  it ! 

Desolation  streamed  over  him  at  the  thought. 
And  next  his  forlorn  mind  began  to  cling  even 
to  the  inanimate  objects  that  were  dotted  about 
the  place  which  held  her.  He  passed  a  little 
farm-house  into  which  Kate  and  he  had  once 
been  driven  by  a  storm,  and  had  sat  together 
by  the  kitchen  fire ;  and  the  farmer's  wife  had 
smiled  on  them  for  sweethearts,  and  made  them 
drink  rum  and  milk,  and  stay  till  the  sun  was 
fairly  out. 

"Ah!  good-by,  little  farm!  "he  sighed;  "when 
shall  I  ever  see  you  again  ?" 

He  passed  a  brook  where  they  had  often  stop- 
ped together  and  given  their  panting  horses  just 
a  mouthful  after  a  run  with  the  harriers. 

"Good-by,  little  brook!"  said  he;  "you  will 
ripple  on  as  before,  and  warble  as  you  go ;  but  I 
shall  never  drink  at  your  water  more,  nor  hear 
your  pleasant  murmur  with  her  I  love." 

He  sighed  and  crept  away,  still  making  for 
the  sea. 

In  the  icy  depression  of  his  heart  his  body  and 
his  senses  were  half  paralyzed,  and  none  would 
have  known  the  accomplished  huntsman  in  this 
broken  man,  who  hung  anyhow  over  his  mare's 
neck,  and  went  to  and  fro  in  the  saddle. 

When  he  had  gone  about  five  miles  he  came 
to  the  crest  of  a  hill ;  he  remembered  that,  once 


past  that  brow,  he  could  see  Peyton  Hall  no  more. 
He  turned  slowly  and  cast  a  sorrowful  look  at  it. 

It  was  winter,  but  the  afternoon  sun  had  come 
out  bright.  The  horizontal  beams  struck  full 
upon  the  house,  and  all  the  western  panes  shone 
like  burnished  gold.  Her  very  abode,  how  glo- 
rious it  looked !    And  he  was  to  see  it  no  more. 

He  gazed  and  gazed  at  the  bright  house  till 
love  and  sorrow  dimmed  his  eyes,  and  he  could 
see  the  beloved  place  no  more.  Then  his  dog- 
ged will  prevailed  and  carried  him  away  toward 
the  sea,  but  crying  like  a  Avoman  now,  and  hang- 
ing all  dislocated  over  his  horse's  mane. 

Now  about  half  a  mile  farther  on,  as  he  crept 
along  on  a  vile  and  narrow  road,  all  woe-begone 
and  broken,  he  heard  a  mighty  scurry  of  horse's 
feet  in  the  field  to  his  left ;  he  looked  languidly 
up ;  and  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  a  great  pie- 
bald horse's  head  and  neck  in  the  act  of  rising  in 
the  air,  and  doubling  his  fore  legs  under  him,  to 
leap  the  low  hedge  a  yard  or  two  in  front  of  him. 

He  did  leap,  and  landed  just  in  front  of  Grif- 
fith ;  his  rider  curbed  him  so  keenly  that  he  went 
back  almost  on  his  haunches,  and  then  stood  mo- 
tionless all  across  the  road,  with  quivering  tail. 
A  lady  in  a  scarlet  riding-habit  and  purple  cap 
sat  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  throne  instead  of  a 
horse,  and,  without  moving  her  body,  turned  her 
head  swift  as  a  snake,  and  fixed  her  great  gray 
eyes  full  and  searching  upon  Griffith  Gaunt. 

He  uttered  a  little  shout  of  joy  and  amaze- 
ment ;  his  mare  reared  and  plunged,  and  then 
Avas  quiet.  And  thus  Kate  Peyton  and  he  met 
— at  right  angles — and  so  close  that  it  looked  as 
if  she  had  meant  to  ride  him  doAvn. 

How  he  stared  at  her !  Hoav  more  than  mor- 
tal fair  she  shone,  returning  to  those  bereaved 
eyes  of  his,  as  if  she  had  really  dropped  from 
heaven ! 

His  clasped  hands,  his  haggard  face  channeled 
by  tears,  shoAved  the  keen  girl  she  Avas  strong 
Avhere  she  had  thought  herself  Aveak,  and  she 
comported  herself  accordingly,  and  in  one  mo- 
ment took  a  much  higher  tone  than  she  had  in- 
tended as  she  came  along. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  she,  very  coldly,  "you 
Avill  have  to  postpone  your  journey  a  day  or  tAvo. 
I  am  grieved  to  tell  you  that  poor  Mr.  Charlton 
is  dead." 

Griffith  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  He  asked  for  you  ;  and  messengers  are  out 
after  you  on  every  side.  You  must  go  to  Bolton 
at  once." 

"  Well-a-day !"  said  Griffith,  "  has  he  left  me, 
too  ?  Good,  kind  old  man,  on  any  other  day  I 
had  found  tears  for  thee !  But  noAv,  methinks, 
happy  are  the  dead.  Alas !  SAveet  mistress,  I 
hoped  you  came  to  tell  me  you  had — I  might — 
Avhat  signifies  Avhat  I  hoped  ? — Avhen  I  saAv  you 
had  deigned  to  ride  after  me.  Why  should  I  go 
to  Bolton,  after  all  ?" 

"Because  you  will  be  an  ungrateful  Avretch 
else.  What !  leave  others  to  carry  your  kinsman 
and  benefactor  to  his  grave,  Avhile  you  turn  your 
back  on  him,  and  inherit  his  estate  ?  For  shame, 
sir!  for  shame!" 

Griffith  expostulated,  humbly. 

"  Hoav  hardly  you  judge  me !  What  are  Bol- 
ton Hall  and  Park  to  me  now?  They  Avere  to 
have  been  yours,  you  knoAv.  And  yours  they 
shall  be.  I  came  betAveen  and  robbed  you.  To 
be  sure,  the  old  man  kneAv  my  mind.     He  said 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


to  himself,  '  Griffith  or  Kate,  what  matters  it 
who  has  the  land?  They  will  live  together  on 
it. '  But  all  that  is  changed  now  ;  you  will  never 
share  it  with  me;  and  so  I  do  feel  I  have  no 
right  to  the  place.  Kate,  my  own  Kate,  I  have 
heard  them  sneer  at  you  for  being  poor,  and  it 
made  my  heart  ache.  I'll  stop  that,  any  way. 
Go  you  in  my  place  to  the  funeral ;  he  that  is 
dead  will  forgive  me  ;  his  spirit  knows  now  what  I 
endure ;  and  I'll  send  you  a  writing,  all  sealed  and 
signed,  shall  make  Bolton  Hall  and  Park  yours ; 
and  when  you  are  happy  with  some  one  you  can 
love,  as  well  as  I  love  you,  think  sometimes  of 
poor  jealous  Griffith,  that  loved  you  dear  and 
grudged  you  nothing;  but,"  grinding  his  teeth 
and  turning  white,  "  I  cant  live  in  Cumberland, 
and  see  you  in  another  man's  arms." 

Then  Catharine  trembled,  and  could  not  speak 
awhile;  but  at  last  she  faltered  out,  M  You  will 
make  me  hate  you." 

"  God  forbid !"  said  simple  Griffith. 
"Well,  then,  don't  thwart  me,  and  provoke 
me  so,  but  just  turn  your  horse's  head  and  go 
quietly  to  Bolton  Hall,  and  do  your  duty  to  the 
dead  and  the  living.  You  can't  go  this  way,  for 
me  and  my  horse."  Then,  seeing  him  waver, 
this  virago  faltered  out,  "And  I  have  been  so 
tried  to-day,  first  by  one,  then  by  another,  surely 
you  might  have  some  pity  on  me.  Oh  !  oh !  oh ! 
oil!" 

"Nay,  nay,"  cried  Griffith,  all  in  a  flutter, 
"  I'll  go  without  more  words  ;  as  I  am  a  gentle- 
man, I  will  sleep  at  Bolton  this  night,  and  will 
do  my  duty  to  the  dead  and  the  living.  Don't 
you  cry,  sweetest ;  I'll  give  in.  I  find  I  have  no 
will  but  yours." 

The  next  moment  they  were  cantering  side  by 
side,  and  never  drew  rein  till  they  reached  the 
cross-roads. 

"Now  tell  me  one  thing,"  stammered  Grif- 
fith, with  a  most  ghastly  attempt  at  cheerful  in- 
difference. "  How — do  you — happen  to  be — on 
George  Neville's  horse  ?" 

Kate  had  been  expecting  this  question  for 
some  time,  yet  she  colored  high  when  it  did 
come.  However,  she  had  her  answer  pat.  The 
horse  was  in  the  stable-yard,  and  fresh  ;  her  own 
was  tired. 

"What  was  I  to  do,  Griffith?  And  now," 
added  she,  hastily,  "the  sun  will  soon  set,  and 
the  roads  are  bad ;  be  careful.  I  wish  I  could 
ask  you  to  sleep  at  our  house ;  but — there  are 
reasons — " 

She  hesitated;  she  could  not  well  tell  him 
George  Neville  was  to  dine  and  sleep  there. 

Griffith  assured  her  there  was  no  danger ;  his 
mare  knew  every  foot  of  the  way. 

They  parted :  Griffith  rode  to  Bolton,  and 
Kate  rode  home. 

It  was  past  dinner-time.  She  ran  up  stairs, 
and  hurried  on  her  best  gown  and  her  diamond 
comb ;  for  she  began  to  quake  now  at  the  prank 
she  had  played  with  her  guest's  horse  ;  and  Na- 
ture taught  her  that  the  best  way  to  soften  cen- 
sure is— to  be  beautiful. 

':  Ou  pardonue  tout  aux  belles." 

And  certainly  she  was  passing  fair,  and  queenly 
with  her  diamond  comb. 

She  came  down  stairs  and  was  received  by  her 
father.  He  grumbled  at  being  kept  waiting  for 
dinner. 


15 

Kate  easily  appeased  the  good-natured  squire, 
and  then  asked  what  had  become  of  Mr.  Neville. 

"  Oh,  he  is  gone  long  ago !  Remembered,  all 
of  a  sudden,  he  had  promised  to  dine  with  a 
neighbor." 

Kate  shook  her  head  skeptically,  but  said  noth- 
ing.    But  a  good  minute  after,  she  inquired, 

"How  did  he  go — on  foot ?" 

The  squire  did  not  know. 

After  dinner  old  Joe  sought  an  interview,  and 
was  admitted  into  the  dining-room. 

"Be  it  all  right  about  the  gray  horse,  mas- 
ter ?" 

"  What  of  him  ?"  asked  Kate. 

"  He  be  gone  to  Neville  Court,  mistress.  But 
I  suppose"  (with  a  horrid  leer)  "it  is  all  right. 
Muster  Neville  told  me  all  about  it.  He  said, 
says  he, 

"  '  Some  do  break  a  kine  or  the  likes  on  these 
here  j'yful  occasions ;  other  some  do  exchange 
goold  rings.  Your  young  mistress  and  me,  we 
exchange  nags.  She  takes  my  pieball,  I  take 
her  gray,'  says  he.  'Saddle  him  for  me,  Joe,' 
says  he,  '  and  wish  me  j'y.' 

"  So  I  clapped  Muster  Neville's  saddle  on  the 
gray,  and  a  gave  me  a  goolden  guinea,  a  did ; 
and  I  was  so  struck  of  a  heap  I  let  un  go  without 
wishing  on  him  j'y ;  but  I  hollered  it  arter  un, 
as  hard  as  I  could.  How  you  looks !  It  be  all 
right,  hain't  it  ?" 

Squire  Peyton  laughed  heartily,  and  said  he 
concluded  it  was  all  right. 

"The  piebald,"  said  he^  "is  rising  five,  and 
Fve  had  the  gray  ten  years.  We  have  got  the 
sunny  side  of  that  bargain,  Joe." 

He  gave  Joe  a  glass  of  wine  and  sent  him  off, 
inflated  with  having  done  a  good  stroke  in  horse- 
flesh. 

As  for  Kate,  she  was  red  as  fire,  and  kept  her 
lips  close  as  wax ;  not  a  word  could  be  got  out  of 
her.  The  less  she  said,  the  more  she  thought. 
She  was  thoroughly  vexed,  and  sore  perplexed 
how  to  get  her  gray  horse  back  from  such  a  man 
as  George  Neville ;  and  yet  she  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  trick,  and  secretly  admiring  this 
chevalier,  who  had  kept  his  mortification  to  him- 
self, and  parried  an  affront  so  gallantly. 

"  The  good-humored  wretch !"  said  she  to"fcer- 
self.  "  If  Griffith  ever  goes  away  again,  he  will 
have  me,  whether  I  like  or  no.  No  lady  could 
resist  the  monster  long  without  some  other  man 
close  at  hand  to  help  her. " 


CHAPTER  V. 


As,  when  a  camel  drops  in  the  desert,  vul- 
tures, hitherto  unseen,  come  flying  from  the  ho- 
rizon, so  Mr.  Charlton  had  no  sooner  succumbed 
than  the  air  darkened  with  undertakers,  flocking 
to  Bolton  for  a  lugubrious  job.  They  rode  up 
on  black  steeds,  they  crunched  the  gravel  in  gray 
gigs,  and  sent  in  black-edged  cards  to  Griffith, 
and  lowered  their  voices,  and  bridled  their  brisk- 
ness, and  tried  hard,  poor  souls  !  to  be  sad ;  and 
were  horribly  complacent  beneath  that  thin  japan 
of  venal  sympathy. 

Griffith  selected  his  Raven,  and  then  sat  down 
to  issue  numerous  invitations. 

The  idea  of  eschewing  funereal  pomp  had  not 
yet  arisen.  A  gentleman  of  that  day  liked  hid 
very  remains  to  make  a  stir,  and  did  not  see  the 


} 


)C 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


fun  of  steali  lis  grave  like  a  rabbit  slip- 

ping agrouri  harlton  had  even  left  be- 

hind him  a  .  tter  containing  a  list  of  the 

persons  he  wished  to  follow  him  to  the  grave  and 
attend  the  reading  of  his  will.  These  were  thir- 
ty-four, and  a  hem  three  known  to  fame, 
namely,  George  Neville,  Esq.,  Edward  Peyton, 
Esq.,  and  Miss  Catharine  Peyton. 

To  ail  and  each  of  the  thirty-four  young 
Gaunt  wrote  a  formal  letter,  inviting  them  to 
pay  respect  to  their  deceased  friend,  and  to  honor 
himself,  by  coming  to  Bolton  Hall  at  nigh  noon 
on  Saturday  next.  These  letters,  in  compliance 
with  another  custom  of  the  time  and  place,  were 
all  sent  by  mounted  messengers,  and  the  answers 
came  on  horseback  too  ;  so  that  there  was  much 
clattering  of  hoofs  coming  and  going,  and  much 
roasting,  baking,  drinking  of  ale,  and  bustling, 
all  along  of  him  who  lay  so  still  in  an  upper 
chamber. 

And  every  man  and  woman  came  to  Mr. 
Gaunt  to  ask  his  will  and  advice,  however  sim- 
ple the  matter ;  and  the  servants  turned  very 
obsequious,  and  laid  themselves  out  to  please  the 
new  master,  and  retain  their  old  places. 

And,  what  with  the  sense  of  authority,  and 

the  occupation,  and  growing  ambition,  love-sick 

grew  another  man,  and  began  to  forget 

that  two  days  ago  he  was  leaving  the  country 

ing  to  give  up  the  whole  game. 

He  found  time  to  send  Kate  a  loving  letter, 
but  no  talk  of  marriage  in  it.  He  remembered 
she  had  asked  him  to^give  her  time.  Well,  he 
would  take  her  advice. 

It  wanted  just  three  days  to  the  funeral,  when 
Mr.  Charlton's  own  carriage,  long  unused,  was 
found  to  be  out  of  repair.  Griffith  had  it  sent 
to  the  nearest  town,  and  followed  it  on  that  and 
other  business.  Now  it  happened  to  be  what 
the  country  folk  called  "  justicing  day  ;"  and  who 
should  ride  into  the  yard  of  the  "Roebuck"  but 
the  new  magistrate.  Mr.  Neville  ?  He  alighted 
oif  a  great  bony  grajf  horse  before  Griffith's  very 
md  sauntered  jnto  a  private  room. 

Griffith  looked,  ei  d  looked,  and,  scarcely  able 
to  believe  his  senses,  followed  Neville's  horse  to 
the  stable,  and  examined  him  all  round. 

Griffith  was  sore  perplexed,  and  stood  at  the 
stable-door  glaring  it  the  horse;  and  sick  mis- 
givings troubled  h'.i.  He  forgot  the  business 
te  about,  an!  iwent  and  hung  about  the 
bar,  and  tried  to  pi  It  up  a  clew  to  this  mystery. 
The  poor  wretch  put]  on  a  miserable  assumption 
of  indifference,  and  sked  one  or  two  of  the  mag- 
istrates if  that  was  not  Mr.  Peyton's  gray  horse 
young  Neville  had  udden  in  upon. 

Now  among  these  gentlemen  was  a  young 
squire  Miss  Peyton  nad  refused,  and  galled  him. 
He  had  long  owed  Gaunt  a  gradge  for  seeming 
to  succeed  where  he  had  notably  failed,  and 
now,  hearing  him  talk  so  much  about  the  gray, 
he  smelt  a  rat.  He  stepped  into  the  parlor  and 
told  Neville  "Gaunt  was  fuming  about  the  gray 
horse,  and  questioning  every  body.  Neville, 
though  he  put  so  bold  a  face  on  his  recent  adven- 
ture at  Peyton  Hall,  was  secretly  smarting,  and 
quite  disposed  to  sting  Gaunt  in  return.  He 
saw  a  tool  in  this  treacherous  young  squire — his 
name  was  Gallon— and  used  him  accordingly. 

Galton,  thoroughly  primed  by  Neville,  slipped 
back,  and,  choosing  his  opportunity,  poisoned 
Guffith  Gaunt. 


And  this  is  how  he  poisoned  him. 

"  Oh,"  said  he,  "Neville  has  bought  the  gray 
nag ;  and  cost  him  dear,  it  did." 

Griffith  gave  a  sigh  of  relief;  for  he  at  once 
concluded  old  Peyton  had  sold  his  daughter's 
very  horse.  He  resolved  to  buy  her  a  better  one 
next  week  with  Mr.  Charlton's  money. 

But  Galton,  who  was  only  playing  with  him, 
went  on  to  explain  that  Neville  had  paid  a 
double  price  for  the  nag:  he  had  given  Miss 
Peyton  his  piebald  horse  in  exchange,  and  his 
troth  into  the  bargain.  In  short,  he  lent  the 
matter  so  adroit  a  turn,  that  the  exchange  of 
horses  seemed  to  be  Kate's  act  as  much  as 
Neville's,  and  the  inference  inevitable. 

"It  is  a  falsehood!"  gasped  Griffith. 

"Nay,"  said  Galton,  "I  had  it  on  the  best 
authority ;  but  you  shall  not  quarrel  with  me 
about  it ;  the  lady  is  naught  to  me,  and  I  but 
tell  the  tale  as  'twas  told  to  me." 

"  Then  who  told  it  you  ?"  said  Gaunt,  sternly. 

"Why,  it  is  all  over  the  country,  for  that 
matter." 

"No  subterfuges,  sir!  I  am  the  lady's  ser- 
vant, and  you  know  it :  this  report,  it  slanders 
her,  and  insults  me  :  give  me  the  author,  or  I'll 
lay  my  hunting-whip  on  your  bones." 

"Two  can  play  at  that  game,"  said  Galton; 
but  he  turned  pale  at  the  prospect  of  the  pas- 
time. 

Griffith  strode  toward  him,  black  with  ire. 

Then  Galton  stammered  out, 

"It  was  Neville  himself  told  me." 

"Ah !"  said  Griffith,  "I  thought  so.  He  is  a 
liar,  and  a  coward." 

"I  would  not  advise  you  to  tell  him  so,"  said 
the  other,  maliciously.  "  He  has  killed  his  man 
in  France — spitted  him  like  a  lark." 

Griffith  replied  by  a  smile  of  contempt. 

"Where  is  the  man?"  said  he,  after  a  pause. 

"How  should  1  know?"  asked  Galton,  inno- 
cently. 

"  Where  did  you  leave  him  five  minutes  ago?" 

Galton  was  dumbfoundered  at  this  stroke,  and 
could  find  nothing  to  say. 

And  now,  as  often  happens,  the  matter  took  a 
turn  not  in  the  least  anticipated  by  the  conspir- 
ators. 

"  You  must  come  with  me,  sir,  if  you  please, " 
said  Griffith,  quietly  ;  and  he  took  Galton's  arm. 

"  Oh,  with  all  my  heart,"  said  the  other. 
"But,  Mr.  Gaunt,  do  not  you  take  these  idle 
reports  to  heart — /never  do.  What  the  devil — 
where  are  you  carrying  me  to?  For  heaven's 
sake,  let  this  foolish  business  go  no  farther." 

For  he  found  Griffith  was  taking  him  to  the 
very  room  where  Neville  was. 

Griffith  deigned  no  reply  ;  he  just  opened  the 
door  of  the  room  in  question,  and  walked  the 
tale-bearer  into  the  presence  of  the  tale-maker. 
George  Neville  rose  and  confronted  the  pair  with 
a  vast  appearance  of  civility,  but  under  it  a  sneer 
was  just  discernible. 

The  rivals  measured  each  other  from  head  to 
foot,  and  then  Neville  inquired  to  what  he  owed 
the  honor  of  this  visit. 

Griffith  replied,  "He  tells  me  you  told  him 
Miss  Peyton  has  exchanged  horses  with  you." 

"Oh,  you  indiscreet  person!"  said  George, 
shaking  his  finger  playfully  at  Galton. 

"And,  by  the  same  token,  has  plighted  her 
troth  to  you. " 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


17 


' '  Worse  and  worse, "  said  George.  ' '  Galton, 
I'll  never  trust  you  with  any  secrets  again.  Be- 
sides, you  exaggerate." 

"  Come,  sir,"  said  Griffith,  sternly,  "  this  Ned 
Galton  was  but  your  tool  and  your  mouth-piece, 
and  therefore  I  bring  him  here  to  witness  my 
reply  to  you :  Mr.  George  Neville,  you  are  a  liar 
and  a  scoundrel." 

George  Neville  bounded  to  his  feet  like  a 
tiger. 

"I'll  have  your  life  for  those  two  words,"  he 
cried. 

Then  he  suddenly  governed  himself  by  a  great 
effort. 

"It  is  not  for  me  to  bandy  words  with  a 
Cumberland  savage,"  said  he.  "Name  your 
time  and  place." 

"  I  will.  Ned  Galton,  you  may  go.  I  wish 
to  say  a  few  words  in  private  to  Mr.  Neville. " 

Galton  hesitated. 

"  No  violence,  gentlemen  :  consider." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Neville.  "  Mr.  Gaunt  and 
I  are  going  to  fight :  we  are  not  going  to  brawl. 
Be  so  good  as  to  leave  us." 

"Ay,"  said  Griffith;  "and  if  you  repeat  a 
word  of  all  this,  woe  be  to  your  skin  !" 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Griffith  Gaunt  turn- 
ed very  grave  and  calm,  and  said  to  George  Ne- 
ville, "The  Cumberland  savage  has  been  better 
taught  than  to  expose  the  lady  he  loves  to  gos- 
siping tongues." 

Neville  colored  up  to  the  eyes  at  this  thrust. 

Griffith  continued,  ' '  The  least  you  can  do  is 
to  avoid  fresh  scandal. " 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  co-operate  with  you  so 
far,"  said  Neville,  stiffly.  "  I  undertake  to  keep 
Galton  silent ;  and  for  the  rest,  we  have  only  to 
name  an  early  hour  for  meeting,  and  confide  it 
to  but  one  discreet  friend  apiece  who  will  attend 
us  to  the  field.  Then  there  will  be  no  gossip, 
and  no  bumpkins  nor  constables  breaking  in : 
such  things  have  happened  in  this  country,  I 
hear." 

It  was  Wednesday.  They  settled  to  meet  on 
Friday,  at  noon,  on  a  hill-side  between  Bolton 
and  Neville's  Court.  The  spot  was  exposed,  but 
so  wild  and  unfrequented  that  no  interruption 
was  to  be  feared.  Mr.  Neville  being  a  practiced 
swordsman,  Gaunt  chose  pistols — a  weapon  at 
which  the  combatants  were  supposed  to  be  pret- 
ty equal.  To  this  Neville  very  handsomely  con- 
sented. 

By  this  time  a  stiff  and  elaborate  civility  had 
taken  the  place  of  their  heat,  and  at  parting  they 
bowed  both  long  and  low  to  each  other. 

Griffith  left  the  inn  and  went  into  the  street ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  got  there,  he  began  to  realize 
what  he  had  done,  and  that  in  a  day  or  two  he 
might  very  probably  be  a  dead  man.  The  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  go  with  sorrowful  face  and 
heavy  step  to  Mr.  Houseman's  office. 

Mr.  Houseman  was  a  highly  respectable  solic- 
itor. His  late  father  and  he"  had  long  enjoyed 
the  confidence  of  the  gentry,  and  this  enabled 
him  to  avoid  litigious  business,  and  confine  him- 
self pretty  much  to  the  more  agreeable  and  lu- 
crative occupation  of  drawing  wills,  settlements, 
and  conveyances,  and  effecting  loans,  sales,  and 
transfers.  He  visited  the  landed  proprietors,  and 
dined  with  them,  and  was  a  great  favorite  in  the 
country. 

"  Justicing  day"  brought  him  many  visits  ;  so 
B 


on  that  day  he  was  always  at  his  place  of  busi- 
ness. Indeed,  a  client  was  with  him  when  Grif- 
fith called,  and  the  young  gentleman  had  to  wait 
in  the  outer  office  for  full  ten  minutes. 

Then  a  door  opened  and  the  client  in  question 
came  out,  looking  mortified  and  anxious.  It  was 
Squire  Peyton.  At  sight  of  Gaunt,  who  had 
risen  to  take  his  vacant  place,  Kate's  father  gave 
him  a  stiff"  nod  and  an  unfriendly  glance,  then 
hurried  away. 

Griffith  was  hurt  at  his  manner.  He  knew 
very  well  Mr.  Peyton  looked  higher  for  his  daugh- 
ter than  Griffith  Gaunt ;  but,  for  all  that,  the  old 
gentleman  had  never  shown  him  any  personal 
dislike  or  incivility  until  this  moment. 

So  Griffith  could  not  but  fear  that  Neville  was 
somehow  at  the  bottom  of  this,  and  that  the  com- 
bination was  very  strong  against  him.  Now  in 
thus  interpreting  Mr.  Peyton's  manner  he  fell 
into  a  very  common  error  and  fruitful  cause  of 
misunderstanding.  We  go  and  fancy  that  Every- 
body is  thinking  of  us.  But  he  is  not ;  he  is  like 
us  ;  he  is  thinking  for  himself. 

"Well,  well,"  thought  Griffith,  "if  I  am  not 
to  have  her,  what  better  place  for  me  than  the 
grave  ?" 

He  entered  Mr.  Houseman's  private  room  and 
opened  his  business  at  once. 

But  a  singular  concurrence  of  circumstances 
induced  Lawyer  Houseman  to  confide  to  a  third 
party  the  substance  of  what  passed  between  this 
young  gentleman  and  himself.  So,  to  avoid  rep- 
etition, the  best  way  will  be  to  let  Houseman  tell 
this  part  of  my  tale  instead  of  me,  and  I  only 
hope  his  communication,  when  it  comes,  may  be 
half  as  interesting  to  my  reader  as  it  was  to  his 
hearer. 

Suffice  it  for  me  to  say  that  lawyer  and  client 
were  closeted  a  good  hour,  and  were  still  con- 
versing together  when  a  card  was  handed  in  to 
Mr.  Houseman  that  seemed  to  cause  him  both 
surprise  and  pleasure. 

' '  In  five  minutes,"  said  he  to  the  clerk.  Grif- 
fith took  the  hint,  and  bade  him  good-by  directly. 

As  he  went  out,  the  gentleman  who  had  sent 
in  his  card  rose  from  a  seat  in  the  outer  office  to 
go  in. 

It  was  Mr.  George  Neville. 

Griffith  Gaunt  and  he  saluted  and  scanned 
each  other  curiously.  They  little  thought  to 
meet  again  so  soon.  The  clerks  saw  nothing 
more  than  two  polite  gentlemen  passing  each 
other. 

The  more  Griffith  thought  of  the  approaching 
duel,  the  less  he  liked  it.  He  was  an  impulsive 
man,  for  one  thing ;  and  with  such,  a  cold  fit  nat- 
urally succeeds  a  hot  one.  And,  besides,  as  his 
heat  abated,  Reason  and  Reflection  made  them- 
selves heard,  and  told  him  that  in  a  contest  with 
a  formidable  rival  he  was  throwing  away  an  ad- 
vantage. After  all,  Kate  had  shown  him  great 
favor ;  she  had  ridden  Neville's  horse  after  him, 
and  made  him  resign  his  purpose  of  leaving  her ; 
surely,  then,  she  preferred  him,  on  the  whole,  to 
Neville ;  yet  he  must  go  and  risk  his  chance  of 
possessing  her  upon  a  personal  encounter,  in 
which  Neville  was  at  least  as  likely  to  kill  him  as 
he  to  kill  Neville.  He  saw  too  late  that  he  was 
playing  his  rival's  game.  He  felt  cold  and  de- 
spondent, and  more  and  more  convinced  that  he 
should  never  marry  Kate,  but  that  she  would 
very  likely  bury  him. 


1? 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


With  all  this  he  was  too  game  to  recoil,  and, 
indeed,  he  hated  his  rival  too  deeply.  So,  like 
many  a  man  before  him,  he  was  going  doggedly 
to  the  field  against  his  judgment,  with  little  to 
win  and  all  to  lose. 

His  deeper  and  more  solemn  anxieties  were 
diversified  by  a  lighter  one.  A  few  days  ago  he 
had  invited  half  the  county  to  bury  Mr.  Charlton 
on  Saturday,  the  1 9th  of  February.  But  now 
he  had  gone  and  fixed  Friday,  the  18th,  for  a 
duel.  A  fine  thing  if  he  should  be  himself  a 
corpse  on  Friday  afternoon !  Who  was  to  re- 
ceive the  guests  ?  who  conduct  the  funeral  ? 

The  man,  with  all  his  faults,  had  a  grateful 
heart ;  and  Mr.  Charlton  was  his  benefactor,  and 
he  felt  he  had  no  right  to  go  and  get  himself 
killed  until  he  had  paid  the  last  rites  to  his  best 
friend. 

The  difficulty  admits,  of  course,  of  a  comic 
view,  and  smells  Hibernian ;  but  these  things 
seem  any  thing  but  droll  to  those  whose  lives 
and  feelings  are  at  stake ;  and,  indeed,  there  was 
something  chivalrous  and  touching  in  Griffith's 
vexation  at  the  possibility  of  his  benefactor  being 
buried  without  due  honors,  owing  to  his  own  in- 
temperate haste  to  be  killed.  He  resolved  to 
provide  against  that  contingency ;  so,  on  the 
Thursday,  he  wrote  an  urgent  letter  to  Mr. 
Houseman,  telling  him  he  must  come  early  to 
the  funeral,  and  be  prepared  to  conduct  it. 

This  letter  was  carried  to  Mr.  Houseman's  of- 
fice at  three  o'clock  on  Thursday  afternoon. 

Mr.  Houseman  was  not  at  home.  He  was 
gone  to  a  country-house  nine  miles  distant.  But 
Griffith's  servant  was  well  mounted,  and  had  per- 
emptory orders ;  so  he  rode  after  Mr.  House- 
man, and  found  him  at  Mr.  Peyton's  house, 
whither,  if  you  please,  we  too  will  follow  him. 

In  the  first  place,  you  must  know  that  the  real 
reason  why  Mr.  Peyton  looked  so  savage,  com- 
ing out  of  Mr.  Houseman's  office,  was  this  :  Ne- 
ville had  said  no  more  about  the  hundred  pounds, 
and,  indeed,  had  not  visited  the  house  since  ;  so 
Peyton,  Avho  had  now  begun  to  reckon  on  this 
sum,  went  to  Houseman  to  borrow  it.  But 
Houseman  politely  declined  to  lend  it  him,  and 
gave  excellent  reasons.  All  this  Avas  natural 
enough,  common  enough ;  but  the  real  reason 
why  Houseman  declined  was  a  truly  singular 
one.  The  fact  is,  Catharine  Peyton  had  made 
him  promise  to  refuse. 

Between  that  young  lady  and  the  Housemans, 
husband  and  wife,  there  was  a  sincere  friend- 
ship, founded  on  mutual  esteem,  and  Catharine 
could  do  almost  what  she  liked  with  either  of 
them.  Now,  whatever  might  have  been  her 
faults,  she  was  a  proud  girl,  and  an  intelligent 
one  •  it  mortified  her  pride  to  see  her  father  bor- 
rowing here,  and  borrowing  there,  and  unable  to 
repay ;  and  she  had  also  observed  that  he  always 
celebrated  a  new  loan  by  a  new  extravagance, 
and  so  was  never  a  penny  the  richer  for  borrowed 
money.  He  had  inadvertently  let  fall  that  he 
should  apply  to  Houseman.  She  raised  no  open 
objection,  but  just  mounted  Piebald,  and  rode  off 
to  Houseman,  and  made  him  solemnly  promise 
her  not  to  lend  her  father  a  shilling. 

Houseman  kept  his  word ;  but  his  refusal  cost 
him  more  pain  than  he  had  calculated  on  when 
he  made  the  promise.  Squire  Peyton  had  paid 
him  thousands,  first  and  last ;  and  when  he  left 
Houseman's  room,  with  disappointment,  morti- 


fication, and  humiliation  deeply  marked  on  his 
features,  usually  so  handsome  and  jolly,  the  law- 
yer felt  sorry  and  ashamed — and  did  not  show  it. 

But  it  rankled  in  him ;  and  the  very  next  day 
he  took  advantage  of  a  little  business  he  had  to 
do  in  Mr.  Peyton's  neighborhood,  and  drove  to 
Peyton  Hall,  and  asked  for  Mistress  Kate. 

His  was  a  curious  errand.  Indeed,  I  think  it 
would  not  be  easy  to  find  a  parallel  to  it. 

For  here  was  an  attorney  calling  upon  a  beau- 
tiful girl — to  do  what  ? 

To  soften  her. 

On  a  daughter — to  do  what  ? 

To  persuade  her  to  pei  mit  him  to  lend  her  fa- 
ther £100  on  insufficient  security. 

Well,  he  reminded  her  of  his  ancient  obliga- 
tions to  her  family,  and  assured  her  he  could 
well  afford  to  risk  a  hundred  or  even  a  thousand 
pounds.  He  then  told  her  that  her  father  had 
shown  great  pain  at  his  refusal,  and  that  he  him- 
self was  human,  and  could  not  divest  himself  of 
gratitude,  and  pity,  and  good-nature  —  all  for 
£100. 

"In  a  word,"  said  he,  "I  have  brought  the 
money  ;  and  you  must  give  in  for  this  once,  and 
let  me  lend  it  him  without  more  ado." 

Miss  Peyton  was  gratified  and  affected,  and  a 
tear  trembled  a  moment  in  her  eye,  but  went  in- 
doors again,  and  left  her  firm  as  a  rock  sprinkled 
with  dew.  She  told  him  she  could  quite  under- 
stand his  feeling,  and  thanked  him  for  it ;  but 
she  had  long  and  seriously  weighed  the  matter, 
and  could  not  release  him  from  his  promise. 

"  No  more  of  this  base  borrowing,"  said  she, 
and  clenched  her  white  teeth  indomitably. 

He  attacked  her  with  a  good  many  weapons, 
but  she  parried  them  all  so  gently,  yet  so  nobly, 
and  so  successfully,  that  he  admired  her  more 
than  ever. 

Still,  lawyers  fight  hard,  and  die  very  hard. 
Houseman  got  warm  in  his  cause,  and  cross-ex- 
amined this  defendant,  and  asked  her  whether 
she  would  refuse  to  lend  her  father  £100  out  of  a 
full  purse. 

This  question  was  answered  only  by  a  flash 
of  her  glorious  eyes,  and  a  magnificent  look  of 
disdain  at  the  doubt  implied. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Houseman,  "be  your  fa- 
ther's surety  for  repayment,  with  interest  at  six 
per  centum,  and  then  there  will  be  nothing  in 
the  business  to  wound  your  dignity.  I  have 
many  hundreds  out  at  six  per  centum. " 

"Excuse  me;  that  would  be  dishonorable," 
said  Kate;  "I  have  no  money  to  repay  you 
with." 

"But  you  have  expectations." 

"Nay,  not  I." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Methinks  I  should  know,  sir.  What  expec- 
tations have  I  ?  and  from  whom  ?" 

Houseman  fidgeted  on  his  seat,  and  then,  with 
some  hesitation,  replied,  "  Well,  from  two  that  I 
know  of." 

"  You  are  jesting,  methinks,  good  Mr.  House- 
man," said  she,  reproachfully. 

"Nay,  dear  Mistress  Kate,  I  wish  you  too 
well  to  jest  on  such  a  theme. " 

The  lawyer  then  fidgeted  again  on  his  seat  in 
silence  —  sign  of  an  inward  struggle  —  during 
which  Kate's  eye  watched  him  with  some  curi- 
osity. At  last  his  wavering  balance  inclined  to- 
ward revealing  something  or  other. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


11) 


"  Mistress  Kate,"  said  he,  "  my  wife  and  I  are 
both  your  faithful  friends  and  humble  admirers. 
We  often  say  you  would  grace  a  coronet,  and 
wish  you  were  as  rich  as  you  are  good  and  beau- 
tiful.''' 

Kate  turned  her  lovely  head  away,  and  gave 
him  her  hand.  That  incongruous  movement,  so 
full  of  womanly  grace  and  feeling,  and  the  soft 
pressure  of  her  white  hand,  completed  her  vic- 
tory, and  the  remains  of  Houseman's  reserve 
melted  away. 

"  Yes,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said  he,  warmly, 
' '  I  have  good  news  for  you ;  only  mind,  not  a 
living  soul  must  ever  know  it  from  your  lips. 
Why,  I  am  going  to  do  for  you  what  I  never  did 
in  my  life  before— going  to  tell  you  something 
that  passed  yesterday  in  my  office.  But  then  I 
know  you ;  you  are  a  young  lady  out  of  a  thou- 
sand ;  I  can  trust  you  to  be  discreet  and  silent 
— can  I  not  ?" 

"As  the  grave." 

"Well,  then,  my  young  mistress — in  truth  it 
was  like  a  play,  though  the  scene  was  but  a  law- 
yer's office — " 

"Was  it?"  cried  Kate.  "Then  you  set  me 
all  of  a  flutter ;  you  must  sup  here,  and  sleep 
here.  Nay,  nay,"  said  she,  her  eyes  sparkling 
with  animation,  "I'll  take  no  denial.  My  fa- 
ther dines  abroad :  we  shall  have  the  house  to 
ourselves. " 

Her  interest  was  keenly  excited ;  but  she  was 
a  true  woman,  and  must  coquette  with  her  very 
curiosity ;  so  she  ran  off  to  see  with  her  own 
eyes  that  sheets  were  aired,  and  a  roasting  fire 
lighted  in  the  blue  bedroom  for  her  guest. 

While  she  was  away  a  servant  brought  in 
Griffith  Gaunt's  letter,  and  a  sheet  of  paper  had 
to  be  borrowed  to  answer  it. 

The  answer  was  hardly  written  and  sent  out 
to  Griffith's  servant  when  supper  and  the  fair 
hostess  came  in  almost  together. 

After  supper  fresh  logs  were  heaped  on  the 
fire,  and  the  lawyer  sat  in  a  cozy  arm-chair,  and 
took  out  his  diary  and  several  papers  as  method- 
ically as  if  he  was  going  to  lay  the  case  by  coun- 
sel before  a  judge  of  assize. 

Kate  sat  opposite  him  with  her  gray  eyes 
beaming  on  him  all  the  time,  and  searching  for 
the  hidden  meaning  of  every  thing  he  told  her. 
During  the  recital  which  follows,  her  color  often 
came  and  went,  but  those  wonderful  eyes  never 
left  the  narrator's  face  a  moment. 

They  put  the  attorney  on  his  mettle,  and  he 
elaborated  the  matter  more  than  I  should  have 
done :  he  articulated  his  topics ;  marked  each 
salient  fact  by  a  long  pause.  In  short,  he  told 
his  story  like  an  attorney,  and  not  like  a  roman- 
cist.  I  can  not  help  that,  you  know ;  I'm  not 
Procrustes. 

MR.  HOUSEMAN'S   LITTLE   NARRATIVE. 

Wednesday,  the  seventeenth  day  of  Febru- 
ary, at  about  one  of  the  clock,  called  on  me  at 
my  place  of  business  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt,  whom  I 
need  not  here  describe,  inasmuch  as  his  person 
and  place  of  residence  are  well  known  to  the 
court— what  am  I  saying  ?— I  mean,  well  known 
to  yourself,  Mistress  Kate. 

"The  said  Griffith,  on  entering  my  room, 
seemed  moved,  and  I  might  say  distempered, 
and  did  not  give  himself  time  to  salute  me  and 


receive  my  obeisance,  but  addressed  me  abrupt- 
ly and  said  as  follows :  '  Mr.  Houseman,  I  am 
come  to  make  my  will. ' " 

("Dear  me!"  said  Kate:  then  blushed,  and 
was  more  on  her  guard.) 

"I  seated  the  young  gentleman,  and  then  re- 
plied that  his  resolution  aforesaid  did  him  cred- 
it, the  young  being  as  mortal  as  the  old.  I  said 
farther  that  many  disasters  had  happened,  in  my 
experience,  owing  to  the  obstinacy  with  which 
men,  in  the  days  of  their  strength,  shut  their 
eyes  to  the  precarious  tenure  under  which  all 
sons  of  Adam  hold  existence ;  and  so,  many  a 
worthy  gentleman  dies  in  his  sins — and,  what  is 
worse,  dies  intestate. 

"But  the  said  Griffith  interrupted  me  with 
some  signs  of  impatience,  and  asked  me  bluntly, 
would  I  draw  his  will,  and  have  it  executed  on 
the  spot. 

"I  assented  generally;  but  I  requested  him, 
by  way  of  needful  preliminary,  to  obtain  for  me 
a  copy  of  Mr.  Charlton's  will,  under  which,  as  I 
have  always  understood,  the  said  Griffith  inher- 
its whatever  real  estate  he  hath  to  bequeath. 

"Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt  then  replied  to  me  that 
Mr.  Charlton's  will  was  in  London,  and  the  ex- 
act terms  of  it  could  not  be  known  until  after 
the  funeral — that  is  to  say,  upon  the  nineteenth 
instant. 

' '  Thereupon  I  explained  to  Mr.  Gaunt  that  I 
must  see  and  know  what  properties  were  devised 
in  the  will  aforesaid,  by  the  said  Charlton,  to 
Gaunt  aforesaid,  and  how  devised  and  described. 
Without  this,  I  said,  I  could  not  correctly  and 
sufficiently  describe  the  same  in  the  instrument  I 
was  now  requested  to  prepare. 

"  Mr.  Gaunt  did  not  directly  reply  to  this  ob- 
jection. But  he  pondered  a  little  Avhile,  and  then 
asked  me  if  it  were  not  possible  for  him,  by  means 
of  general  terms,  to  convey  to  a  sole  legatee  what- 
ever lands,  goods,  chattels,  etc.,  Mr.  Charlton 
might  hereafter  prove  to  have  devised  to  him, 
the  said  Griffith  Gaunt. 

"I  admitted  this  was  possible,  but  objected 
that  it  was  dangerous.  I  let  him  know  that  in 
matters  of  law  general  terms  are  a  fruitful  source 
of  dispute,  and  I  said  I  was  one  of  those  who 
hold  it  a  duty  to  avert  litigation  from  our  clients. 

"Thereupon  Mr.  Gaunt  drew  out  of  his  bosom 
a  pocket-book. 

"  The  said  pocket-book  was  shown  to  me  by 
the  said  Gaunt,  and  I  say  it  contained  a  para- 
graph from  a  newspaper,  which  I  believe  to  have 
been  cut  out  of  the  said  newspaper  with  a  knife, 
or  a  pair  of  scissors,  or  some  trenchant  instru- 
ment ;  and  the  said  paragraph  purported  to  con- 
tain an  exact  copy  of  a  certain  will  and  testament 
under  which  (as  is,  indeed,  matter  of  public  noto- 
riety) one  Dame  Butcher  hath  inherited  and  now 
enjoys  the  lands,  goods,  and  chattels  of  a  certain 
meny  parson  late  deceased  in  these  parts,  and, 
I  believe,  little  missed. 

"  Mr.  Gaunt  would  have  me  read  the  will  and 
testament  aforesaid,  and  I  read  it  accordingly ; 
and  inasmuch  as  bad  things  are  best  remember- 
ed, the  said  will  and  testament  did,  by  its  singu- 
larity and  profaneness,  fix  itself  forthwith  in  my 


20 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


memory,  so  that  I  can  by  no  means  dislodge  it 
thence,  do  Avhat  I  may. 

"  The  said  document,  to  the  best  of  my  mem- 
ory and  belief,  runneth  after  this  fashion : 

"  '  I,  John  Raymond,  clerk,  at  present  residing 
at  Whitbeck,  in  the  County  of  Cumberland,  be- 
ing a  man  sound  in  body,  mind,  and  judgment, 
do  deliver  this  as  my  last  will  and  testament : 

"  'I  give  and  bequeath  all  my  real  property, 
and  all  my  personal  property,  and  all  the  proper- 
ty, whether  real  or  personal,  I  may  hereafter  pos- 
sess or  become  entitled  to,  to  my  housekeeper, 
Janet  Butcher. 

"  'And  I  appoint  Janet  Butcher  my  sole  ex- 
ecutrix, and  I  make  Janet  Butcher  my  sole  re- 
siduary legatee ;  save  and  except  that  I  leave 
my  solemn  curse  to  any  knave  who  hereafter 
shall  at  any  time  pretend  that  he  does  not  un- 
derstand the  meaning  of  this  my  will  and  testa- 
ment.' " 

(Catharine  smiled  a  little  at  this  last  bequest.) 

"Mr.  Gaunt  then  solemnly  appealed  to  me  as 
an  honest  man  to  tell  him  whether  the  aforesaid 
document  was  bad,  or  good,  in  law. 

"  I  was  fain  to  admit  that  it  was  sufficient  in 
law ;  but  I  qualified,  and  said  I  thought  it  might 
be  attacked  on  the  score  of  the  hussy's  undue  in- 
fluence, and  the  testator's  apparent  insanity. 
Nevertheless,  I  concluded  candidly  that  neither 
objection  would  prevail  in  our  courts,  owing  to 
the  sturdy  prejudice  in  the  breasts  of  English 
jurymen,  Avhose  ground  of  faith  it  is  that  every 
man  has  a  right  to  do  what  he  will  with  his  own, 
and  even  -to  do  it  how  he  likes, 

"Mr.  Gaunt  did  speedily  abuse  this  my  can- 
dor. He  urged  me  to  lose  no  time,  but  to  draw 
his  will  according  to  the  form  and  precedent  in 
that  case  made  and  provided  by  this  mad  parson  ; 
and  my  clerks,  forsooth,  were  to  be  the  witnesses 
thereof. 

"  I  refused,  with  some  heat,  to  sully  my  office 
by  allowing  such  an  instrument  to  issue  there- 
from ;  and  I  asked  the  said  Gaunt,  in  high  dud- 
geon, for  what  he  took  me. 

"Mr.  Gaunt  then  offered,  In  reply,  two  sug- 
gestions that  shook  me.  Imprimis,  he  told  me 
the  person  to  whom  he  now  desired  to  leave  his 
all  was  Mistress  Catharine  Peyton. "  (An  ejac- 
ulation from  Kate. )  ' '  Secundo,  he  said  he  would 
go  straight  from  me  to  that  coxcomb  Harrison, 
were  I  to  refuse  to  serve  him  in  the  matter. 

"On  this,  having  regard  to  your  interest  and 
my  own,  I  temporized :  I  offered  to  let  him  draw 
a  will  after  his  parson's  precedent,  and  I  agreed 
it  should  be  witnessed  in  my  office ;  only  I  stip- 
idated  that  next  Aveek  a  proper  document  should 
be  drawn  up  by  myself,  with  due  particulars,  on 
two  sheets  of  paper,  and  afterward  engrossed  and 
witnessed ;  and  to  this  Mr.  Gaunt  assented,  and 
immediately  drew  his  Avill  according  to  newspa- 
per precedent. 

"But  when  I  came  to  examine  his  master- 
piece, I  found  he  had  taken  advantage  of  my  pli- 
ability to  attach  an  unreasonable  condition,  to 
wit :  that  the  said  Catharine  should  forfeit  all 
interest  under  this  will  in  case  she  should  ever 
marry  a  certain  party  therein  nominated,  speci- 
fied, and  described." 


("  Now  that  was  Griffith  all  over,"  cried  Cath- 
arine, merrily.) 

"I  objected  stoutly  to  this.  I  took  leave  to 
remind  the  young  gentleman  that,  when  a  Chris- 
tian man  makes  his  last  will  and  testament,  he 
should  think  of  the  grave  and  of  the  place  be- 
yond, whither  we  may  carry  our  affections,  but 
must  leave  the  bundle  of  our  hates  behind,  the 
gate  being  narrow.  I  even  went  so  far  as  to 
doubt  Avhether  such  a  proviso  could  stand  in  law  ;  \ 
and  I  also  put  a  practical  query :  Avhat  Avas  to 
hinder  the  legatee  from  selling  the  property  and 
diverting  the  funds,  and  then  marrying  whom 
she  liked  ? 

"Mr.  Gaunt  Avas  deaf  to  reason.  He  bade 
me  remember  that  he  AAras  neither  saint  nor  apos- 
tle, but  a  poor  gentleman  of  Cumberland,  A\rho 
saw  a  stranger  come  between  him  and  his  lover 
dear :  with  that  he  Avas  much  moved,  and  did 
not  conclude  his  argument  at  all,  but  broke  off, 
and  Avas  fain  to  hide  his  face  Avith  both  hands  a 
while.  In  truth,  this  touched  me  ;  and  I  looked 
another  Avay,  and  began  to  ask  myself,  why  should 
I  interfere,  who,  after  all,  knoAv  not  your  heart  in 
the  matter ;  and,  to  be  brief,  I  Avithstood  him 
and  Parson's  law  no  more,  but  sent  his  draught 
will  to  the  clerks,  the  Avhich  they  copied  fair  in 
a  trice,  and  the  duplicates  Avere  signed  and  Avit- 
nessed  in  red-hot  haste — as  most  of  men's  follies 
are  done,  for  that  matter. 

"  The  paper  Avriting  noAv  produced  and  sIioaati 
to  me — tush  !  what  am  I  saying  ? — I  mean  the 
paper  Avriting  I  now  produce  and  show  to  you  is 
the  draught  of  the  will  aforesaid,  in  the  hand- 
Avriting  of  the  testator." 

And  Avith  this  he  handed  Kate  Peyton  Grif- 
fith Gaunt's  will,  and  took  a  long  and  satirical 
pinch  of  snuff  Avhile  she  examined  it. 

Miss  Peyton  took  the  will  in  her  Avhite  hands 
and  read  it.  But,  in  reading  it,  she  held  it  up 
and  turned  it  so  that  her  friend  could  not  see  her 
face  while  she  read  it,  but  only  her  Avhite  hands, 
in  Avhich  the  document  rustled  a  little. 

It  ran  thus : 

"  I,  Griffith  Gaunt,  late  of  the  Eyrie,  and  noAv 
residing  at  Bolton  Hall,  in  the  County  of  Cum- 
berland, being  sound  in  body  and  mind,  do  de- 
liver this  as  my  last  will  and  testament.  I  give 
and  bequeath  all  the  property,  real  or  personal, 
Avhich  I  now  possess  or  may  hereafter  become 
entitled  to,  to  my  dear  friend  and  mistress,  Cath- 
arine Peyton,  daughter  of  EdAvard  Peyton,  Es- 
quire, of  Peyton  Hall ;  provided  always  that  the 
said  Catharine  Peyton  shall  at  no  time  Avithin  the 
next  ten  years  marry  George  Neville,  of  Neville's 
Court,  in  this  county.  But  should  the  said  Cath- 
arine marry  the  said  George  Avithin  ten  years  of 
this  day,  then  I  leave  all  my  said  property,  in 
possession,  remainder,  or  reversion,  to  my  heir- 
at-law." 

The  fair  legatee  read  this  extraordinary  testa- 
ment more  than  once.  At  last  she  handed  it 
back  to  Mr.  Houseman  without  a  word.  But 
her  cheek  Avas  red,  and  her  eyes  glistening. 

Mr.  Houseman  Avas  surprised  at  her  silence ; 
and  as  he  Avas  curious  to  know  her  heart,  he 
sounded  her — asked  her  Avhat  she  thought  of  that 
part  of  his  story.  But  she  evaded  him  with  all 
the  tact  of  her  sex. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


21 


"What!  that  is  not  all,  then?"  said  she, 
quickly. 

Houseman  replied  that  it  was  barely  half. 

"Then  tell  me  all — pray  tell  me  all,"  said 
Kate,  earnestly. 

"I  am  here  to  that  end,"  said  Houseman,  and 
recommenced  his  narrative. 

' '  The  business  being  done  to  Mr.  Gaunt's  sat- 
isfaction, though  not  to  mine,  we  fell  into  some 
friendly  talk ;  but  in  the  midst  of  it  my  clerk 
v  Thomas  brought  me  in  the  card  of  a  gentleman 
whom  I  was  very  desirous  to  secure  as  a  client. 

"Mr.  Gaunt,  I  think,  read  my  mind,  for  he 
took  leave  of  me  forthwith.  I  attended  him  to 
the  door,  and  then  welcomed  the  gentleman 
aforesaid.  It  was  no  other  than  Mr.  George 
Neville. 

"Mr.  Neville,  after  such  gracious  civilities  as 
his  native  breeding  and  foreign  travel  have  taught 
him,  came  to  business,  and  requested  me  —  to 
draw  his  will." 

("La!"  said  Kate.) 

"  I  was  a  little  startled,  but  hid  it  and  took  his 
instructions.  This  done,  I  requested  to  see  the 
title-deeds  of  his  estates,  with  a  view  to  describ- 
ing them,  and  he  went  himself  to  his  banker's 
for  them  and  placed  them  in  my  hands. 

"  I  then  promised  to  have  the  will  ready  in  a 
week  or  ten  days.  But  Mr.  Neville,  with  many 
polite  regrets  for  hurrying  me,  told  me  upon  his 
honor  he  could  give  me  but  twenty-four  hours. 
'After  that,'  said  he,  '  it  might  be  too  late.'  " 

("Ah!"  said  Miss  Peyton.) 

"Determined  to  retain  my  new  client,  I  set 
my  clerks  to  work,  and  this  very  day  was  en- 
grossed, signed,  and  witnessed  the  last  will  and 
testament  of  George  Neville,  Esquire,  of  Neville's 
Court,  in  the  County  of  Cumberland,  and  Leices- 
ter Square,  London,  where  he  hath  a  noble  man- 
sion. 

"  Now  as  to  the  general  disposition  of  his  lands, 
manorial  rights,  messuages,  tenements,  goods, 
chattels,  etc.,  and  his  special  legacies  to  divers 
ladies  and  gentlemen  and  domestic  servants,  these 
I  will  not  reveal  even  to  you. 

"The  paper  I  now  produce  is  a  copy  of  that 
particular  bequest  which  I  have  decided  to  com- 
municate to  you  in  strict  and  sacred  confidence. " 

And  he  handed  her  an  extract  from  George 
Neville's  will. 

Miss  Peyton  then  read  what  follows : 

"And  I  give  and  bequeath  to  Mistress  Catha- 
rine Peyton,  of  Peyton  Hall,  in  the  said  County 
of  Cumberland,  in  token  of  my  respect  and  re- 
gard, all  that  my  freehold  estate  called  Moniton 
Grange,  with  the  messuage  or  tenement  standing 
and  being  thereon,  and  the  farm-yard  buildings 
and  appurtenances  belonging  thereto,  containing 
by  estimation  three  hundred  and  seventy-six  acres 
three  roods  and  five  perches,  be  the  same  little 
more  or  less,  to  hold  to  her  the  said  Catharine 
Peyton,  her  heirs  and  assigns,  forever." 

The  legatee  laid  down  the  paper,  and  leaned 
her  head  softly  on  her  fair  hand,  and  her  eyes 
explored  vacancy. 

"What  means  all  this?"  said  she,  aloud,  but 
to  herself. 


Mr.  Houseman  undertook  the  office  of  inter- 
preter. 

" Means?  Why,  that  he  has  left  you  one  of 
the  snuggest  estates  in  the  county.  'Tis  not 
quite  so  large  as  Bolton,  but  lies  sunnier,  and 
the  land  richer.  Well,  mistress,  was  I  right  ? 
Are  you  not  good  for  a  thousand  pounds  ?" 

Kate,  still  manifestly  thinking  of  something 
else,  let  fall,  as  it  were,  out  of  her  mouth,  that 
Mr.  Gaunt  and  Mr.  Neville  were  both  men  in  the 
flower  of  their  youth,  and  how  was  she  the  richer 
for  their  folly  ? 

"Why,"  said  Houseman,  "you  will  not  have 
to  wait  for  the  death  of  these  testators — Heaven 
forbid !  But  what  does  all  this  making  of  wills 
show  me  ?  That  both  these  gentlemen  are  deep 
in  love  with  you,  and  you  can  pick  and  choose ; 
I  say,  you  can  wed  with  Bolton  Hall  or  Neville's 
Court  to-morrow  ;  so,  prithee,  let  the  squire  have 
his  hundred  pounds,  and  do  you  repay  me  at  your 
leisure. " 

Miss  Peyton  made  no  reply,  but  leaned  her  ex- 
quisite head  upon  her  hand  and  pondered. 

She  did  not  knit  her  brows,  nor  labor  visibly 
at  the  mental  oar ;  yet  a  certain  reposeful  gravi- 
ty and  a  fixity  of  the  thoughtful  eye  showed  she 
was  applying  all  the  powers  of  her  mind. 

Mr.  Houseman  was  not  surprised  at  that :  his 
own  wife  had  but  little  intellect,  yet  had  he  seen 
her  weigh  two  rival  bonnets  in  mortal  silence,  and 
with  all  the  seeming  profundity  of  a  judge  on  the 
bench.  And  now  this  young  lady  was  doubtless 
weighing  farms  with  similar  gravity,  care,  and 
intelligence. 

But  as  this  continued,  and  still  she  did  not 
communicate  her  decision,  he  asked  her  point- 
blank  which  of  the  two  she  settled  to  wed,  Ne- 
ville's Court  or  Bolton  Grange. 

Thus  appealed  to,  Miss  Peyton  turned  her 
great  eye  on  him,  without  really  looking  at  him, 
and  replied,  "You  have  made  me  very  uneasy." 

He  stared.  She  relapsed  into  thought  a  mo- 
ment, and  then,  turning  to  Houseman,  asked  him 
how  he  accounted  for  those  two  gentlemen  mak- 
ing their  wills.  They  were  very  young  to  make 
their  wills  all  of  a  sudden. 

"Why,"  said  Houseman,  "Mr.  Neville  is  a 
man  of  sense,  and  every  man  of  sense  makes  his 
will ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Gaunt,  he  has  just  come  into 
prospect  of  an  estate;  that's  why." 

"Ah !  but  why  could  not  Griffith  wait  till  aft- 
er the  funeral  ?" 

"  Oh,  clients  are  always  in  a  hurry." 

"  So  you  see  nothing  in  it — nothing  alarming, 
I  mean?" 

"Nothing  very  alarming.  Two  landed  pro- 
prietors in  love  with  you — that  is  all. " 

"But,  dear  Mr.  Houseman,  that  is  what  makes 
me  uneasy ;  at  this  rate,  they  must  look  on  one 
another  as — as — rivals ;  and  you  know  rivals  are 
sometimes  enemies." 

"  Oh,  I  see  now,"  said  Houseman  :  "you  ap- 
prehend a  quarrel  between  the  gentlemen.  Of 
course,  there  is  no  love  lost  between  them ;  but 
they  met  in  my  office  and  saluted  each  other  with 
perfect  civility.    I  saw  them  with  my  own  eyes. " 

"  Indeed !  I  am  glad  to  hear  that — very  glad. 
I  hope  it  was  only  a  coincidence,  then,  their  both 
making  their  wills." 

"  Nothing  more,  you  may  depend :  neither  of 
them  knows  from  me  what  the  other  has  done, 
nor  ever  will." 


22 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"That  is  true,"  said  Kate,  and  seemed  consid- 
erably relieved. 

To  ease  her  mind  entirely,  Houseman  went  on 
to  say  that,  as  to  the  report  that  high  words  had 
passed  between  the  clients  in  question  at  the 
"Roebuck,"  he  had  no  doubt  it  was  exaggerated. 

"Besides,"  said  he,  "that  was  not  about  a 
lady :  I'm  told  it  was  about  a  horse — some  bet, 
belike." 

Catharine  uttered  a  faint  cry. 

"About  a  horse?"  said  she.  "Not  about  a 
gray  horse  ?" 

"Nay,  that  is  more  than  I  know." 

"High  words  about  a  horse,"  said  Catharine — 
4 '  and  they  are  making  their  wills.  Oh !  my  mind 
misgave  me  from  the  first. "  And  she  turned  pale. 
Presently  she  clasped  her  hands  together — "Mr. 
Houseman!"  she  cried,  "what  shall  I  do?  What! 
do  you  not  see  that  both  their  lives  are  in  danger, 
and  that  is  why  they  make  their  wills  ?  And  how 
should  both  their  lives  be  in  danger  but  from  each 
other?  Madmen!  they  have  quarreled ;  they  are 
going  to  fight — fight  to  the  death ;  and  I  fear  it 
is  about  me — me,  who  love  neither  of  them,  you 
know. " 

"  In  that  case,  let  them  fight,"  said  her  legal 
adviser,  dispassionately.  "  Whichever  fool  gets 
killed,  you  will  be  none  the  poorer."  And  the 
dog  wore  a  sober  complacency. 

Catharine  turned  her  large  eyes  on  him  with 
horror  and  amazement,  but  said  nothing. 

As  for  the  lawyer,  he  was  more  struck  with 
her  sagacity  than  with  any  thing.  He  somewhat 
overrated  it,  not  being  aware  of  the  private  rea- 
sons for  thinking  that  her  two  testators  were  en- 
emies to  the  death. 

"  I  almost  think  you  are  right,"  said  he, "  for 
I  got  a  curious  missive  from  Mr.  Gaunt  scarce 
an  hour  agone,  and  he  says — let  me  see  what  he 
says — " 

"  Nay,  let  me  see," said  Kate. 

On  that  he  handed  her  Griffith's  note.  It  ran 
thus : 

"It  is  possible  I  may  not  be  able  to  conduct 
the  funeral.  Should  this  be  so,  I  appoint  you  to 
act  for  me.  So,  then,  good  Mr.  Houseman,  let 
me  count  on  you  to  be  here  at  nine  of  the  clock. 
For  Heaven's  sake  fail  me  not. 

' '  Your  humble  servant,  G.  G. " 

This  note  left  no  doubt  in  Kate's  mind. 

"Now,  first  of  all,"  said  she,  "what  answer 
made  you  to  this  ?" 

"What  answer  should  I  make?  I  pledged 
my  word  to  be  at  Bolton  at  nine  of  the  clock. " 

"Oh,  blind !"  sighed  Kate.  "  And  I  must  be 
out  of  the  room  !  What  shall  I  do  ?  My  dear 
friend,  forgive  me :  I  am  a  wretched  girl.  I  am 
to  blame.  I  ought  to  have  dismissed  them  both, 
or  else  decided  between  them.  But  who  would 
have  thought  it  would  go  this  length  ?  I  did  not 
think  Griffith  was  brave  enough.  Have  pity  on 
me,  and  help  me.  Stop  this  fearful  fighting." 
And  now  the  young  creature  clung  to  the  man 
of  business,  and  prayed  and  prayed  him  earnest- 
ly to  avert  bloodshed. 

Mr.  Houseman  was  staggered  by  this  passion- 
ate appeal  from  one  who  so  rarely  lost  her  self- 
command.  He  soothed  her  as  well  as  he  could, 
and  said  he  would  do  his  best ;  but  added,  which 
was  very  true,  that  he  thought  her  interference 
would  be  more  effective  than  his  own. 


"What  care  these  young  bloods  for  an  old  at- 
torney ?  I  should  fare  ill  came  I  between  their 
rapiers.  To  be  sure,  I  might  bind  them  over  to 
keep  the  peace.  But,  Mistress  Kate,  now  be 
frank  with  me,  then  I  can  serve  you  better.  You 
love  one  of  these  two,  that  is  clear.  Which  is 
the  man  ? — that  I  may  know  what  I  am  about. " 

For  all  her  agitation,  Kate  was  on  her  guard 
in  some  things. 

"Nay," she  faltered, "I  love  neither — not  to 
say  love  them ;  but  I  pitv  him  so  !" 

"Which?" 

"Both." 

"  Ay,  mistress  ;  but  which  do  you  pity  most  ?" 
asked  the  shrewd  lawyer. 

"Whichever  shall  come  to  harm  for  my  sake," 
replied  the  simple  girl. 

"  You  could  not  go  to  them  to-night,  and 
bring  them  to  reason  ?"  asked  she,  piteously. 

She  went  to  the  window  to  see  what  sort  of  a 
night  it  was.  She  drew  the  heavy  crimson  cur- 
tains and  opened  the  window.  In  rushed  a  bit- 
ter blast  laden  with  flying  snow.  The  window- 
ledges,  too,  were  clogged  with  snow,  and  all  the 
ground  was  white. 

Houseman  shuddered,  and  drew  nearer  to  the 
blazing  logs.  Kate  closed  the  window  with  a 
groan. 

"It  is  not  to  be  thought  of,"  said  she,  "at 
vour  age,  and  not  a  road  to  be  seen  for  snow. 
What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"Wait  till  to-morrow,"  said  Mr.  Houseman. 

(Procrastination  was  his  daily  work,  being  an 
attorney.) 

"To-morrow!"  cried  Catharine.  "Perhaps 
to-morrow  will  be  too  late.  Perhaps  even  now 
they  have  met,  and  he  lies  a  corpse." 

"Who?" 

"Whichever  it  is,  I  shall  end  my  days  in  a 
convent  praying  for  his  soul." 

She  wrung  her  hands  while  she  said  this,  and 
still  there  was  no  catching  her. 

Little  did  the  lawyer  think  to  rouse  such  a 
storm  with  his  good  news.  And  now  he  made 
a  feeble  and  vain  attempt  to  soothe  her,  and  end- 
ed by  promising  to  start  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning  and  get  both  her  testators  bound  over 
to  keep  the  peace  by  noon.  With  this  resolution 
he  went  to  bed  early. 

She  was  glad  to  be  alone,  at  all  events. 

Now,  mind  you,  there  were  plenty  of  vain  and 
vulgar,  yet  respectable  girls  in  Cumberland,  who 
would  have  been  delighted  to  be  fought  about, 
even  though  bloodshed  were  to  be  the  result.  But 
this  young  lady  was  not  vain,  but  proud.  She 
Avas  sensitive,  too,  and  troubled  with  a  con- 
science. It  reproached  her  bitterly  :  it  told  her 
she  had  permitted  the  addresses  of  two  gentle- 
men, and  so  mischief  had  somehow  arisen — out 
of  her  levity.  Now  her  life  had  been  uneventful 
and  innocent :  this  was  the  very  first  time  she 
had  been  connected  with  any  thing  like  a  crime, 
and  her  remorse  was  great;  so  was  her  grief; 
but  her  fears  were  greater  still.  The  terrible 
look  Griffith  had  cast  at  his  rival  flashed  on  her, 
so  did  his  sinister  words.  She  felt  that,  if  he 
and  Neville  met,  nothing  less  than  Neville's  death 
or  his  own  would  separate  them.  Suppose  that 
even  now  one  of  them  lay  a  corpse,  cold  and 
ghastly  as  the  snow  that  now  covered  Nature's 
face! 

The  agitation  of  her  mind  was  such  that  her 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OK,  JEALOUSY. 


23 


body  could  not  be  still.  Now  she  walked  the 
room  in  violent  distress,  wringing  her  hands ; 
now  she  kneeled  and  prayed  fervently  for  both 
those  lives  she  had  endangered ;  often  she  flew  to 
the  window  and  looked  eagerly  out,  writhing  and 
rebelling  against  the  network  of  female  custom 
that  entangled  her  and  would  not  let  her  fly  out 
of  her  cage  even  to  do  a  good  action — to  avert  a 
catastrophe  by  her  prayers,  or  her  tears,  or  her 
good  sense. 

And  all  ended  in  her  realizing  that  she  was  a 
woman — a  poor,  impotent  being,  born  to  lie  quiet 
and  let  things  go  :  at  that  she  wept  helplessly. 

So  wore  away  the  first  night  of  agony  this 
young  creature  ever  knew. 

Toward  morning,  exhausted  by  her  inward 
struggles,  she  fell  asleep  upon  a  sofa. 

But  her  trouble  followed  her.  She  dreamed 
she  was  on  a  horse,  hurried  along  with  prodig- 
ious rapidity,  in  a  darkened  atmosphere,  a  sort 
of  dry  fog :  she  knew  somehow  she  was  being 
taken  to  see  some  awful,  mysterious  thing.  By- 
and-by  the  haze  cleared,  and  she  came  out  upon 
pleasant,  open,  sunny  fields,  that  almost  dazzled 
her.  She  passed  gates,  and  hedges  too,  all  clear, 
distinct,  and  individual.  Presently  a  voice  by 
her  side  said, "This  way !"  and  her  horse  seemed 
to  turn  of  his  own  accord  through  a  gap,  and  in 
one  moment  she  came  upon  a  group  of  gentle- 
men. It  was  Griffith  Gaunt  and  two  strangers. 
Then  she  spoke  and  said,  "  But  Mr. Neville?" 

No  answer  was  made  her ;  but  the  group  open- 
ed in  solemn  silence,  and  there  lay  George  Neville 
on  the  snow,  stark  and  stiff,  with  blood  issuing 
from  his  temple,  and  trickling  along  the  snow. 

She  saw  distinctly  all  his  well-known  features ; 
but  they  were  pinched  and  sharpened  now.  And 
his  dark  olive  skin  was  turned  to  bluish  white. 
It  was  his  corpse.  And  now  her  horse  thrust 
out  his  nose  and  snorted  like  a  demon.  She 
looked  down,  and  ah !  the  blood  was  running  at 
her  preternaturally  fast  along  the  snow.  She 
screamed,  her  horse  reared  high,  and  she  was 
falling  on  the  blood-stained  snow.  She  awoke, 
screaming ;  and  the  sunlight  seemed  to  rush  in 
at  the  window. 

Her  joy  that  it  was  only  a  dream  overpowered 
every  other  feeling  at  first.  She  kneeled  and 
thanked  God  for  that. 

The  next  thing  was,  she  thought  it  might  be  a 
revelation  of  what  had  actually  occurred. 

But  this  chilling  fear  did  not  affect  her  long. 
Nothing  could  shake  her  conviction  that  a  duel 
was  on  foot — and,  indeed,  the  intelligent  of  her 
sex  do  sometimes  put  this  and  that  together,  and 
spring  to  a  just  but  obvious  inference  in  a  way 
that  looks  to  a  slower  and  safer  reasoner  like 
divination  ;  but  then  she  knew  that  yesterday 
evening  both  parties  were  alive.  Coupling  this 
with  Griffith's  broad  hint  that  after  the  funeral 
might  be  too  late  to  make  his  will,  she  felt  sure 
that  it  was  this  very  day  the  combatants  were  to 
meet.  Yes,  and  this  very  morning ;  for  she  knew 
that  gentlemen  always  fought  in  the  morning. 

If  her  dream  was  false  as  to  the  past,  it  might 
be  true  as  to  what  was  at  hand.  Was  it  not  a 
supernatural  warning,  sent  to  her  in  mercy  ?  The 
history  of  her  Church  abounded  in  such  dreams 
and  visions ;  and,  indeed,  the  time  and  place  she 
lived  in  were  rife  with  stories  of  the  kind — one, 
in  particular,  of  recent  date. 

This  thought  took  hold  of  her,  and  grew  on 


her,  till  it  overpowered  even  the  diffidence  of  her 
sex ;  and  then  up  started  her  individual  charac- 
ter ;  and  now  nothing  could  hold  her.  For,  lan- 
guid and  dreamy  in  the  common  things  of  life, 
this  Catharine  Peyton  was  one  of  those  who  rise 
into  rare  ardor  and  activity  in  such  great  crises 
as  seem  to  benumb  the  habitually  brisk,  and  they 
turn  tame  and  passive. 

She  had  seen  at  a  glance  that  Houseman  was 
too  slow  and  apathetic  for  such  an  emergency. 
She  resolved  to  act  herself.  She  washed  her  face, 
and  neck,  and  arms,  and  hands  in  cold  water, 
and  was  refreshed  and  invigorated.  She  put  on 
her  riding-habit  and  her  little  gold  spur  (Griffith 
Gaunt  had  given  it  her),  and  hurried  into  the 
stable-yard. 

Old  Joe  and  his  boy  had  gone  away  to  break- 
fast :  he  lived  in  the  village. 

This  was  unlucky ;  Catharine  must  wait  his 
return  and  lose  time,  or  else  saddle  the  horse  her- 
self. She  chose  the  latter.  The  piebald  was  a 
good  horse,  but  a  fidgety  one ;  so  she  saddled  and 
bridled  him  at  his  stall.  She  then  led  him  out 
to  the'  stone  steps  in  the  stable-yard,  and  tried  to 
mount  him.  But  he  sidled  away ;  she  had  no- 
body to  square  him ;  and  she  could  get  nothing 
to  mount  but  his  head.  She  coaxed  him,  she 
tickled  him  on  the  other  side  with  her  whip.  It 
was  all  in  vain. 

It  was  absurd,  but  heart-sickening.  She  stared 
at  him  with  wonder  that  he  could  be  so  cruel  as 
to  play  the  fool  when  every  minute  might  be  life 
or  death.  She  spoke  to  him,  she  implored  him 
piteously,  she  patted  him.     All  was  in  vain. 

As  a  last  resource,  she  walked  him  back  to  the 
stable,  and  gave  him  a  sieveful  of  oats,  and  set 
it  down  by  the  corn-bin  for  him,  and  took  an  op- 
portunity to  mount  the  bin  softly. 

He  ate  the  oats,  but  with  retroverted  eye 
watched  her.  She  kept  quiet  and  affected  non- 
chalance till  he  became  less  cautious,  then  sud- 
denly sprang  on  him,  and  taught  him  to  set  his 
wit  against  a  woman's.  My  lord  wheeled  round 
directly,  ere  she  could  get  her  leg  over  the  pom- 
mel, and  made  for  the  stable-door.  She  lowered 
her  head  to  his  mane,  and  just  scraped  out  with- 
out injury — not  an  inch  to  spare.  He  set  off  at 
once ;  but,  luckily  for  her,  she  had  often  ridden 
a  bare-backed  horse.  She  sat  him  for  the  first 
few  yards  by  balance,  then  reined  him  in  quietly, 
and  soon  whipped  her  left  foot  into  the  stirrup 
and  her  right  leg  over  the  pommel,  and  then  the 
piebald  nag  had  to  pay  for  his  pranks :  the  roads 
were  clogged  with  snow,  but  she  fanned  him  along 
without  mercy,  and  never  drew  bridle  till  she 
pulled  him  up,  drenched  and  steaming  like  a 
wash-tub,  at  Netley  Cross-roads. 

Here  she  halted  irresolute.  The  road  to  the 
right  led  to  Bolton,  distant  two  miles  and  a  half. 
The  road  in  front  led  to  Neville's  Court,  distant 
three  miles.  Which  should  she  take  ?  She  had 
asked  herself  this  a  dozen  times  upon  the  road, 
yet  could  never  decide  until  she  got  to  the  place 
and  must.  The  question  was,  With  which  of 
them  had  she  most  influence  ?  She  hardly  knew. 
But  Griffith  Gaunt  was  her  old  sweetheart ;  it 
seemed  somewhat  less  strange  and  indelicate  to 
go  to  him  than  to  the  new  one.  So  she  turned 
her  horse's  head  toward  Bolton ;  but  she  no 
longer  went  quite  so  fast  as  she  had  gone  before 
she  felt  going  to  either  in  particular.  Such  is  the 
female  mind. 


24 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


She  reached  Bolton  at  half  past  eleven,  and, 
now  she  was  there,  put  a  hold  face  on  it,  rode  up 
to  the  door,  and,  leaning  forward  on  her  horse, 
rang  the  hall  bell. 

A  footman  came  to  the  door. 

With  composed  visage,  though  heating  heart, 
she  told  him  she  desired  to  speak  for  a  moment 
to  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt.  He  asked  her  would  she 
be  pleased  to  alight ;  and  it  was  clear  by  his  man- 
ner no  calamity  had  yet  fallen. 

' '  No,  no, "  said  Kate,  let  me  speak  to  him  here. " 

The  servant  Avent  in  to  tell  his  master.  Kate 
sat  quiet,  with  her  heart  still  beating,  but  glowing 
now  with  joy.  She  was  in  time,  then,  thanks  to 
her  good  horse.  She  patted  him,  and  made  the 
prettiest  excuses  aloud  to  him  for  riding  him  so 
hard  through  the  snow. 

The  footman  came  back  to  say  that  Mr.  Gaunt 
had  gone  out. 

"Gone  out?     Whither?     On  horseback?" 

The  footman  did  not  know,  but  would  ask 
within. 

While  he  was  gone  to  inquire,  Catharine  lost 
patience,  and  rode  into  the  stable-yard,  and  asked 
a  young  lout  who  was  lounging  there  whether  his 
master  was  gone  out  on  horseback. 

The  lounging  youth  took  the  trouble  to  call 
out  the  groom,  and  asked  him. 

The  groom  said  "No,"  and  that  Mr.  Gaunt 
was  somewhere  about  the  grounds,  he  thought. 

But,  in  the  midst  of  this  colloquy,  one  of  the 
maids,  curious  to  see  the  lady,  came  out  by  the 
kitchen  door,  and  courtesied  to  Kate,  and  told 
her  Mr.  Gaunt  was  gone  out  walking  with  two 
other  gentlemen.  In  the  midst  of  her  discourse 
she  recognized  the  visitor,  and,  having  somehow 
imbibed  the  notion  that  Miss  Peyton  was  likely 
to  be  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  govern  Bolton  Hall,  de- 
cided to  curry  favor  with  her ;  so  she  called  her 
' '  My  Lady, "  and  was  very  communicative.  She 
said  one  of  the  gentlemen  was  strange  to  her,  but 
the  other  was  Doctor  Islip,  from  Stanhope  town. 
She  knew  him  well ;  he  had  taken  off  her  own 
brother's  leg  in  a  jiffy. 

"But,  dear  heart,  mistress,"  said  she,  "how 
pale  you  be !  Do  come  in,  and  have  a  morsel  of 
meat  and  a  horn  of  ale." 

"Nay,  my  good  girl,"  said  Kate,  "I  could  not 
eat ;  but  bring  me  a  mug  of  new  milk,  if  you 
will.     I  have  not  broken  my  fast  this  day." 

The  maid  bustled  in,  and  Catharine  asked  the 
groom  if  there  were  no  means  of  knowing  where 
Mr.  Gaunt  was.  The  groom  and  the  boy  scratch- 
ed their  heads,  and  looked  puzzled.  The  loung- 
ing lout  looked  at  their  perplexity,  and  grinned 
satirically. 

This  youth  was  Tom  Leicester,  born  in  wed- 
lock, and  therefore,  in  the  law's  eye,  son  of  old 
Simon  Leicester ;  but  gossips  said  his  true  father 
was  the  late  Captain  Gaunt.  Tom  ran  with  the 
hounds  for  his  own  sport — went  out  shooting 
with  gentlemen,  and  belabored  the  briers  for 
them  at  twopence  per  day  and  his  dinner — and 
abhorred  all  that  sober  men  call  work. 

By  trade  a  Beater ;  profession,  a  Scamp. 

Two  maids  came  out  together  now,  one  with 
the  milk  and  a  roll,  the  other  with  a  letter. 
Catharine  drank  the  milk,  but  could  not  eat. 
Then  says  the  other  maid, 

"If  so  be  you  are  Mistress  Peyton,  why,  this 
letter  is  for  you.  Master  left  it  on  his  table  in 
his  bedroom. " 


Kate  took  the  letter  and  opened  it  all  in  a  flut- 
ter.    It  ran  thus : 

"  Sweet  Mistress, — When  this  reaches  you, 
I  shall  be  no  more  here  to  trouble  you  with  my 
jealousy.  This  Neville  set  it  abroad  that  you 
had  changed  horses  with  him,  as  much  as  to  say 
you  had  plighted  troth  with  him.  He  is  a  liar, 
and  I  told  him  so  to  his  teeth.  We  are  to  meet 
at  noon  this  day,  and  one  must  die.  Methinks  I 
shall  be  the  one.  But,  come  what  may,  I  have 
taken  care  of  thee ;  ask  Jack  Houseman  else. 
But,  oh  dear  Kate,  think  of  all  that  hath  passed 
between  us,  and  do  not  wed  this  Neville,  or  I 
could  not  rest  in  my  grave.  Sweetheart,  many 
a  letter  have  I  written  thee,  but  none  so  sad  as 
this.  Let  the  grave  hide  my  faults  from  thy 
memory ;  think  only  that  I  loved  thee  well,  I 
leave  thee  my  substance — would  it  were  ten 
times  more ! — and  the  last  thought  of  my  heart. 
So  no  more  in  this  world  from  him  that  is  thy 
true  lover  and  humble  servant  till  death, 

"Griffith  Gaunt." 

There  seems  to  be  room  in  the  mind  for  only 
one  violent  emotion  at  one  instant  of  time.  This 
touching  letter  did  not  just  then  draw  a  tear 
from  her,  who  now  received  it  some  hours  soon- 
er than  the  writer  intended.  Its  first  effect  was 
to  paralyze  her.  She  sat  white  and  trembling, 
and  her  great  eyes  filled  with  horror.  Then  she 
began  to  scream  wildly  for  help.  The  men  and 
women  came  round  her. 

"Murder!  murder!"  she  shrieked.  "Tell 
me  where  to  find  him,  ye  wretches,  or  may  his 
blood  be  upon  your  heads !" 

The  Scamp  bounded  from  his  lounging  posi- 
tion, and  stood  before  her  straight  as  an  arrow. 

1 '  Follow  me ! "  he  shouted. 

Her  gray  eyes  and  the  Scamp's  black  ones 
flashed  into  one  another  directly.  He  dashed 
out  of  the  yard  without  another  word. 

And  she  spurred  her  horse,  and  clattered  out 
after  him. 

He  ran  as  fast  as  her  horse  could  canter,  and 
soon  took  her  all  round  the  house  ;  and  while  he 
ran,  his  black  gipsy  eyes  were  glancing  in  every 
direction. 

When  they  got  to  the  lawn  at  the  back  of  the 
house,  he  halted  a  moment,  and  said  quietly, 
"  Here  they  be." 

He  pointed  to  some  enormous  footsteps  in  the 
snow,  and  bade  her  notice  that  they  commenced 
at  a  certain  glass  door  belonging  to  the  house, 
and  that  they  all  pointed  outward.  The  lawn 
was  covered  with  such  marks,  but  the  Scamp  fol- 
lowed those  his  intelligence  had  selected,  and 
they  took  him  through  a  gate,  and  down  a  long 
walk,  and  into  the  park.  Here  no  other  feet  had 
trodden  that  morning  except  those  Tom  Leices- 
ter was  following. 

"  This  is  our  game,"  said  he.  "  See,  there  be 
six  footsteps ;  and,  now  I  look,  this  here  track  is 
Squire  Gaunt's.  I  know  his  foot  in  the  snow 
among  a  hundred.  Bless  your  heart,  I've  often 
been  out  shooting  with  Squire  Gaunt,  and  lost 
him  in  the  woods,  and  found  him  again  by  track- 
ing him  on  dead  leaves,  let  alone  snow.  I  say, 
wasn't  they  useless  idiots  ?  Couldn't  tell  ye  how 
to  run  into  a  man,  and  snow  on  the  ground ! 
Why,  you  can  track  a  hare  to  her  form,  and  a 
rat  to  his  hole — let  alone  such  big  game  as  this, 
with  a  hoof  like  a  frying-pan — in  the  snow. " 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OK,  JEALOUSY. 


25 


"Oh,  do  not  talk ;  let  us  make  haste," panted 
Kate. 

"  Canter"  away !"  replied  the  Scamp. 

She  cantered  on,  and  he  ran  by  her  side. 

"  Shall  I  not  tire  you?"  said  she. 

The  mauvais  sitjet  laughed  at  her. 

"Tire  me?  Not  over  this  ground.  Why,  I 
run  with  the  hounds,  and  mostly  always  in  at 
the  death  ;  but  that  is  not  altogether  speed  ;  ye 
see  I  know  Pug's  mind.  What !  don't  you  know 
vie  ?  I'm  Tom  Leicester.  Why,  I  know  you : 
I  say,  you  are  a  good-hearted  one,  you  are." 

"*Oh,  no!  no!"  sighed  Kate. 

"  Nay,  but  you  are,"  said  Tom.  "  I  saw  you 
take  Harrowden  Brook  that  day,  when  the  rest 
turned  tail;  and  that  is  what  I  call  having  a 
good  heart.  Gently,  mistress,  here — this  is  full 
of  rabbit-holes.  I  seen  Sir  Ralph's  son-el  mare 
break  her  leg  in  a  moment  in  one  of  these.  Shot 
her  dead  that  afternoon,  a  did,  and  then  b'iled 
her  for  the  hounds.  She'd  often  follow  at  their 
tails ;  next  hunting-day  she  ran  inside  their  bel- 
lies.    Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

"  Oh,  don't  laugh !     I  am  in  agony  !" 

"Why,  what  is  up,  mistress?"  asked  the 
young  savage,  lowering  his  voice.  "  'Murder,' 
says  you;  but  that  means  naught.  The  lasses 
they  cry  murder  if  you  do  but  kiss  'em." 

' '  Oh,  Tom  Leicester,  it  is  murder !  It's  a 
duel,  a  fight  to  the  death,  unless  we  are  in  time 
to  prevent  them." 

"A  jewel!"  cried  Master  Leicester,  his  eyes 
glittering  with  delight.  "I  never  saw  a  jewel. 
Don't  you  hold  him  in  for  me,  mistress :  gallop 
down  this  slope  as  hard  as  you  can  pelt ;  it  is 
grass  under  foot,  and  ye  can't  lose  the  tracks, 
and  I  shall  be  sure  to  catch  ye  in  the  next 
field." 

The  young  savage  was  now  a<?  anxious  to  be 
in  at  the  death  as  Kate  was  to  save  life.  As  he 
spoke,  he  gave  her  horse  a  whack  on  the  quarter 
with  his  stick,  and  away  she  went  full  gallop, 
and  soon  put  a  hundred  yards  between  her  and 
Tom. 

The  next  field  was  a  deep  fallow,  and  the 
hard  furrows  reduced  heifr  to  a  trot ;  and  before 
she  got  out  of  it  Tom  was  by  her  side 


' '  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?"  said  he.      ' '  I'd 


to  Peyton  Hall  for  a  pot  o'  beer. 

"  Oh,  you  good,  brave,  clever  boy  !"  said  Kate, 
"how  fortunate  I  am  to  have  you !  I  think  we 
shall  be  in  time." 

Tom  was  flattered. 

"Why,  you  see,  I  am  none  of  Daddy  Leices- 
ter's breed, " said  he.  "I'm  a  gentleman's  by- 
blow,  if  you  know  what  that  is." 

"  I  can't  say  I  do,"  said  Kate  ;  "  but  I  know 
you  are  very  bold  and  handsome,  and  swift  of 
foot ;  and  I  know  my  patron  saint  has  sent  you 
to  me  in  my  misery.  And  oh,  my  lad,  if  we  are 
in  time— what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Are  you  fond 
of  money,  Tom  ?" 

"  That  I  be — when  I  can  get  it," 

"Then  you  shall  have  all  I  have  got  in  the 
world  if- you  get  me  there  in  time  to  hinder  mis- 
chief." 

"Come  on!"  shouted  Tom,  excited  in  his 
turn,  and  took  the  lead ;  and  not  a  word  more 
passed  till  they  came  to  the  foot  of  a  long  hill. 
Then  said  Tom, 

41  Once  we  are  at  top  of  this,  they  can't  fight 
without  our  seeing  'em.     That  is  Scutchemsee 


Nob : '  you  can  see  ten  miles  all  round  from 
there." 

At  this  information  Kate  uttered  an  ejacula- 
tion, and  urged  her  horse  forward. 

The  first  part  of  this  hill,  which  stood  between 
her  and  those  whose  tracks  she  followed,  was 
grass ;  then  came  a  strip  of  turnips ;  then,  on 
the  bleak  top,  a  broad  piece  of  heather.  She 
soon  cantered  over  the  grass,  and  left  Tom  so  far 
behind  he  could  not  quite  catch  her  in  the  tur- 
nips. She  entered  the  heather,  but  here  she 
was  much  retarded  by  the  snow-drifts  and  the 
ups  and  downs  of  the  rough  place.  But  she 
struggled  on  bravely,  still  leading. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  earnestly  on  the  ridge, 
whence  she  could  cry  to  the  combatants,  howev- 
er distant,  and  stop  the  combat. 

Now,  as  she  struggled  on,  and  Tom  came  aft- 
er, panting  a  little  for  the  first  time,  suddenly 
there  rose  from  the  crest  of  the  hill  two  columns 
of  smoke,  and  the  next  moment  two  sharp  re- 
ports ran  through  the  frosty  air. 

Kate  stopped,  and  looked  round  to  Tom  with 
a  scared,  inquiring  air. 

"Pistols !"  yelled  Tom  behind  her. 

At  that  the  woman  overpowered  the  heroine, 
and  Kate  hid  her  face  and  fell  to  trembling  and 
Availing.  Her  wearied  horse  came  down  to  a 
walk. 

Presently  up  comes  Tom. 

"Don't  lose  your  stomach  for  that,"  he  pant- 
ed out.  "  Gentlefolks  do  pop  at  one  another  all 
day  sometimes,  and  no  harm  done." 

"  Oh,  bless  you !"  cried  Kate,  "I  may  yet  be 
in  time." 

She  spurred  her  horse  on.  He  did  his  best, 
but,  ere  he  had  gone  twenty  yards,  he  plunged 
into  a  cavity  hidden  by  the  snow. 

While  he  was  floundering  there,  crack  went  a 
single  pistol,  and  the  smoke  rose  and  drifted  over 
the  hill-top. 

"Who — op!"  muttered  Tom,  with  horrible 
sang-froid.  "There's  one  done  for  this  time. 
Couldn't  shoot  back,  ye  see." 

At  this  horrible  explanation  Kate  sank  for- 
ward on  her  horse's  mane  as  if  she  herself  had 
been  killed,  and  the  smoke  from  the  pistol  came 
floating  thinner  and  thinner,  and  eddied  high 
over  her  head. 

Tom  spoke  rude  words  of  encouragement  to 
her.  She  did  not  even  seem  to  hear  them. 
Then  he  lost  all  patience  .at  her,  and  clutched 
her  arm  to  make  her  hear  him.  But  at  that  it 
seemed  as  if  some  of  his  nature  passed  into  her 
down  his  arm,  for  she  turned  wild  directly,  and 
urged  her  horse  fiercely  up  the  crest.  Her  prog- 
ress was  slow  at  first ;  .but  the  sun  had  melted 
the  snow  on  the  Nob  or  extreme  summit. .  She 
tore  her  way  through  the  last  of  the  snow  on  to 
the  clear  piece ;  then,  white  as  ashes,  spurred 
and  lashed  her  horse  over  the  ridge,  and  dashed 
in  among  them  on  the  other  side.  For  there 
they  were. 

What  was  the  sight  that  met  her  eyes  ? 

That  belongs  to  the  male  branch  of  my  story, 
and  shall  be  told  forthwith,  but  in  its  proper  se- 
quence. 

•> 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  two  combatants  came  to  the  field  in  a 
very  different  spirit.     Neville  had  already  fought 


2G 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  5  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


two  duels,  and  been  successful  in  both.  He  had 
confidence  in  his  skill  and  in  his  luck.  His  con- 
science, too,  was  tolerably  clear,  for  he  was  the 
insulted  person ;  and  if  a  bullet  should  remove 
this  dangerous  rival  from  his  path,  why,  all  the 
better  for  him,  and  all  the  worse  for  the  fool  who 
had  brought  the  matter  to  a  bloody  issue,  though 
the  balance  of  the  lady's  heart  inclined  his  way. 

He  came  in  high  spirits,  and  rode  upon  Kate 
Peyton's  gray,  to  sting  his  adversary,  and  show 
his  contempt  of  him. 

Not  so  Griffith  Gaunt.  His  heart  was  heavy, 
and  foreboded  ill.  It  was  his  first  duel,  and  he 
expected  to  be  killed.  He  had  played  a  fool's 
game,  and  he  saw  it. 

The  night  before  the  duel  he  tried  hard  to 
sleep ;  he  knew  it  was  not  giving  his  nerves  fair 
play  to  lie  thinking  all  night.  But  coy  sleep,  as 
usual  when  most  wanted,  refused  to  come.  At 
daybreak  the  restless  man  gave  it  up  in  despair, 
and  rose  and  dressed  himself.  He  wrote  that 
letter  to  Catharine,  little  thinking  it  would  fall 
into  her  hands  while  he  lived.  He  ate  a  little 
toast,  and  drank  a  pint  of  Burgundy,  and  then 
wandered  listlessly  about  till  Major  Richards,  his 
second,  arrived. 

That  experienced  gentleman  brought  a  surgeon 
with  him — Mr.  Islip. 

Major  Rickards  deposited  a  shallow  wooden 
box  in  the  hall,  and  the  two  gentlemen  sat  down 
to  a  hearty  breakfast. 

Griffith  took  care  of  his  guests,  but  beyond  that 
spoke  scarcely  a  word ;  and  the  surgeon,  after  a 
ghastly  attempt  at  commonplaces,  was  silent  too. 
Major  Rickards  satisfied  his  appetite  first,  and 
then,  finding  his  companions  dumb,  set  to  work 
to  keep  up  their  spirits.  He  entertained  them 
with  a  narrative  of  the  personal  encounters  he 
had  witnessed,  and  especially  of  one  in  which  his 
principal  had  iallen  on  his  face  at  the  first  fire, 
and  the  antagonist  had  sprung  into  the  air,  and 
both  had  lain  dead  as  door-nails,  and  never  moved, 
nor  even  winked,  after  that  single  discharge. 

Griffith  sat  under  this  chilling  talk  for  more 
than  an  hour. 

At  last  he  rose  gloomily,  and  said  it  was  time 
to  go. 

"Got  your  tools,  doctor?"  inquired  the  major. 

The  surgeon  nodded  slightly.  He  was  more 
discreet  than  his  friend. 

When  they  had  walked  nearly  a  mile  in  the 
snow,  the  major  began  to  complain. 

' '  The  devil !"  said  he  ;  "  this  is  queer  walking. 
My  boots  are  full  of  water.  I  shall  catch  my 
death." 

The  surgeon  smiled  satirically,  comparing  si- 
lent Griffith's  peril  with  -his  second's. 

Griffith  took  no  notice.  He  went  like  Forti- 
tude plodding  to  Execution. 

Major  Rickards  fell  behind,  and  whispei'ed  Mr. 
Islip,  "Don't  like  his  looks  5  doesn't  march  like 
a  winner.  A  job  for  you  or  the  sexton,  you 
mark  my  words." 

They  toiled  up  Scutchemsee  Nob,  and  when 
they  reached  the  top,  they  saw  Neville  and  his 
second,  Mr.  Hammersley,  riding  toward  them. 
The  pair  had  halters  as  well  as  bridles,  and,  dis- 
mounting, made  their  nags  fast  to  a  large  black- 
thorn that  grew  there.  The  seconds  then  step- 
ped forward,  and  saluted  each  other  with  formal 
civility. 


Griffith  looked  at  the  gray  horse,  and  ground 
his  teeth.  The  sight  of  the  animal  in  Neville's 
possession  stirred  up  his  hate,  and  helped  to  steel 
his  heart.    He  stood  apart,  still,  pale,  and  gloomv. 

The  seconds  stepped  out  fifteen  paces,  and 
placed  the  men.  Then  they  loaded  two  pair  of 
pistols,  and  put  a  pistol  in  each  man's  hand. 

Major  Rickards  took  that  opportunity  to  ad- 
vise his  principal. 

"Stand  sharp.  Keep  your  arm  close  to  your 
side.     Don't  fire  too  high.     How  do  you  feel?" 

"Like  a  man  who  must  die,  but  will  try  to  die 
in  company." 

The  seconds  now  Avithdrew  to  their  places,  and 
the  rivals  held  their  pistols  lowered,  but  fixed 
their  deadly  eyes  on  each  other. 

The  eye,  in  such  a  circumstance,  is  a  terrible 
thing :  it  is  literally  a  weapon  of  destruction,  for 
it  directs  the  deadly  hand  that  guides  the  dead- 
ly bullet.  Moreover,  the  longer  and  the  more 
steadily  the  duelist  fixes  his  eye  on  his  adversary, 
the  less  likely  he  is  to  miss. 

Griffith  was  very  pale,  but  dogged.  Neville 
was  serious,  but  firm.  Both  eyed  each  other 
unflinchingly. 

"  Gentlemen,  are  you  ready?"  asked  Neville's 
second. 
("Yes." 
V'Yes." 

"Then,"  said  Major  Rickards,  "you  will  fire 
when  I  let  fall  this  handkerchief,  and  not  before. 
Mark  me,  gentlemen :  to  prevent  mistakes,  I 
shall  say  '  One — two — three !'  and  then  drop  the 
handkerchief.  Now,  then,  once  more,  are  you 
quite  readv  ?" 
("Yes*." 
t"Yes." 

1 '  One — two — three !" 

He  dropped  the  handkerchief,  and  both  gen- 
tlemen fired  simultaneously.  Mr.  Neville's  hat 
spun  into  the  air;  Griffith  stood  untouched^ 

The  bullet  had  passed  through  Neville's  hat, 
and  had  actually  cut  a  lane  through  his  magnif- 
icent hair. 

The  seconds  now  consulted,  and  it  was  inti- 
mated to  Griffith  that  a  word  of  apology  would 
be  accepted  by  his  antagonist.  Griffith  declined 
to  utter  a  syllable  of  apology. 

Two  more  pistols  were  given  to  the  men 

"Aim  lower,"  said  Rickards. 

"I  mean  to,"  said  Griffith. 

The  seconds  withdrew,  and  the  men  eyed  each 
other — Griffith  dogged  and  pale  as  before,  Ne- 
ville not  nearly  so  self-assured :  Griffith's  bullet, 
in  grazing  him,  had  produced  the  effect  of  a 
sharp,  cold  current  of  air  no  wider  than  a  knife. 
It  was  like  Death's  icy  forefinger  laid  on  his  head, 
to  mark  him  for  the  next  shot — as  men  mark  a 
tree,  then  come  again  and  fell  it. 

"  One— two— three !" 

And  Griffith's  pistol  missed  fire  ;  but  Neville's 
went  off,  and  Griffith's  arm  sank  powerless,  and 
his  pistol  rolled  out  of  his  hand.  He  felt  a  sharp 
twinge,  and  then  something  trickled  down  his 
arm. 

The  surgeon  and  both  seconds  ran  to  him. 

"Nay,  it  is  nothing,"  said  he;  "I  shoot  far 
better  with  my  left  hand  than  my  right.  Give 
me  another  pistol,  and  let  me  have  fair  play.  He 
has  hit  me,  and  now  I'll  hit  him." 

Both  seconds  agreed  this  was  impossible. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


27 


"It  is  the  chance  of  war,"  said  Major  Rick- 
ards;  "you  can  not  be  allowed  to  take  a  cool 
shot  at  Mr.  Neville.  If  you  fire  again,  so  must 
he." 

"The  affair  may  very  well  end  here,"  said  Mr. 
Hammersley.  "I  understand  there  was  some 
provocation  on  our  side ;  and,  on  behalf  of  the 
party  insulted,  I  am  content  to  let  the  matter 
end,  Mr.  Gaunt  being  wounded." 

"  I  demand  my  second  shot  to  his  third,"  said 
Griffith,  sternly ;  "he  will  not  decline,  unless  he 
is  a  poltroon,  as  well  as — what  I  called  him." 

The  nature  of  this  reply  was  communicated  to 
Neville,  and  the  seconds,  with  considerable  re- 
luctance, loaded  two  more  pistols  ;  and  during 
the  process  Major  Rickards  glanced  at  the  com- 
batants. 

Griffith,  exasperated  by  his  wound  and  his 
jealousy,  was  wearing  out  the  chivalrous  cour- 
age of  his  adversary,  and  the  major  saw  it.  His 
keen  eye  noticed  that  Neville  was  getting  rest- 
less, and  looking  confounded  at  his  despised  ri- 
val's pertinacity,  and  that  Gaunt  was  more  dog- 
ged and  more  deadly. 

"My  man  will  kill  yom*s  this  time,"  said  he, 
quietly,  to  Neville's  second  ;  "I  can  see  it  in  his 
eye.    He  is  hungry ;  t'other  has  had  his  bellyful. " 

Once  more  the  men  were  armed,  and  the  sec- 
onds withdrew  to  their  places,  intimating  that 
this  was  the  last  shot  they  would  allow  under  any 
circumstances  whatever. 

"  Are  you  both  ready  ?" 
("Yes." 
t"Yes." 

A  faint  wail  seemed  to  echo  the  response. 

All  heard  it,  and  in  that  superstitious  age  be- 
lieved it  to  be  some  mysterious  herald  of  death. 

It  suspended  even  Major  Rickards's  voice  a 
minute.  He  recovered  himself,  however,  and 
once  more  his  soldier-like  tones  rang  in  the  keen 
air : 

"One—" 

There  was  a  great  rushing,  and  a  pounding  of 
the  hard  ground,  and  a  scarlet  Amazon  galloped 
in,  and  drew  up  in  the  middle,  right  between 
the  leveled  pistols. 

Every  eye  had  been  so  bent  on  the  combatants 
that  Kate  Peyton  and  her  horse  seemed  to  have 
sprung  out  of  the  very  earth.  And  there  she 
sat,  pale  as  ashes,  on  the  steaming  piebald,  and 
glanced  from  pistol  to  pistol.  . 

The  duelists  stared  in  utter  amazement,  and 
instinctively  lowered  their  weapons,  for  she  had 
put  herself  right  in  their  line  of  fire  with  a  reck- 
lessness that  contrasted  nobly  with  her  fear  for 
others.  In  short,  this  apparition  literally  petri- 
fied them  all,  seconds  as  well  as  combatants. 

And  while  they  stood  open-mouthed,  yet  dumb, 
in  came  the  Scamp,  and,  with  a  brisk  assumption 
of  delegated  authority,  took  Griffith's  weapon  out 
of  his  now  unresisting  hand,  then  marched  to 
Neville.  He  instantly  saluted  Catharine,  and 
then  handed  his  pistol  to  her  seeming  agent,  with 
a  high-bred  and  inimitable  air  of  utter  noncha- 
lance. 

Kate,  seeing  them,  to  her  surprise,  so  easily 
disarmed,  raised  her  hands  and  her  lovely  eyes 
to  heaven,  and,  in  a  feeble  voice,  thanked  God 
and  Saint  Nescioquis. 

But  very  soon  that  faint  voice  quavered  away 
to  nothing,  and  her  fair  head  was  seen  to  droop, 
and  her  eyes  to  close ;  then  her  body  sank  slow- 


ly forward  like  a  broken  lily,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment she  lay  fainting  on  the  snow  beside  her 
steaming  horse. 

He  never  moved,  he  was  so  dead  beat  too. 

Oh  lame  and  impotent  conclusion  of  a  vigor- 
ous exploit !  Masculine  up  to  the  crowning 
point,  and  then  to  go  and  spoil  all  with  ' '  wom- 
an's weakness  !" 

"  N.B. — This  is  rote  sarcasticul,"  as  Artemus 
the  Delicious  says.  Woman's  weakness !  If 
Solomon  had  planned  and  Samson  executed, 
they  could  not  have  served  her  turn  better  than 
this  most  seasonable  swooning  did ;  for,  lo !  at 
her  fall,  the  doughty  combatants  uttered  a  yell 
of  dismay,  and  there  was  an  indiscriminate  rush 
toward  the  fair  sufferer. 

But  the  surgeon  claimed  his  rights.  ■ 

"This  is  my  business,"  said  he,  authoritative- 
ly. "Do  not  crowd  on  her,  gentlemen;  give 
her  air." 

Whereupon  the  duelists  and  seconds  stood  re- 
spectfully aloof,  in  a  mixed  group,  and  watched 
with  eager  interest  and  pity. 

The  surgeon  made  a  hole  in  the  snow,  and  laid 
his  fair  patient's  head  low. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  he;  "she  has 
swooned  ;  that  is  all. " 

It  was  all  mighty  fine  to  say  "  Don't  be 
alarmed."  But  her  face  was  ashy,  and  her  lips 
the  color  of  lead  ;  and  she  was  so  like  death,  they 
could  not  help  being  terribly  alarmed ;  and  now, 
for  the  first  time,  the  duelists  felt  culprits ;  and 
as  for  fighting,  every  idea  of  such  a  thing  went 
out  of  their  heads.  The  rivals  now  were  but  ri- 
val nurses ;  and  never  did  a  lot  of  women  make 
more  fuss  over  a  child  than  all  these  blood-thirsty 
men  did  over  this  Amazon  manquee.  They  pro- 
duced their  legendary  lore.  One's  grandmother 
had  told  him  burnt  feathers  were  the  thing ; 
another,  from  an  equally  venerable  source,  had 
gathered  that  those  pink  palms  must  be  profane- 
ly slapped  by  the  horny  hand  of  man  —  for  at 
no  less  a  price  could  resuscitation  be  obtained. 
The  surgeon  scorning  all  their  legends,  Griffith 
and  Neville  made  hasty  rushes  with  brandy  and 
usquebaugh  ;  but  whether  to  be  taken  internally 
or  externally  they  did  not  say,  nor,  indeed,  know, 
but  only  thrust  their  flasks  wildly  on  the  doctor, 
and  he  declined  them  loftily.  He  melted  snow 
in  his  hand,  and  dashed  it  hard  in  her  face,  and 
put  salts  close  to  her  pretty  little  nostrils.  And 
this  he  repeated  many  times  without  effect. 

But  at  last  her  lips  began  to  turn  from  lead 
color  to  white,  and  then  from  white  to  pink,  and 
her  heavenly  eyes  to  open  again,  and  her  mouth 
to  murmur  things  pitiably  small  and  not  bearing 
on  the  matter  in  hand. 

Her  cheek  was  still  colorless  when  her  con- 
sciousness came  back,  and  she  found  she  was  ly- 
ing on  the  ground  with  ever  so  many  gentlemen 
looking  at  her. 

At  that,  Modesty,  alarmed,  sent  the  blood  at 
once  rushing  to  her  pale  cheek. 

A  lovely  lily  seemed  turning  to  a  lovely  rose 
before  their  eyes. 

The  next  thing  was,  she  hid  that  blushing  face 
in  her  hands,  and  began  to  whimper. 

The  surgeon  encouraged  her:  "Nay,  we  are 
all  friends,"  he  whispered,  paternally. 

She  half  parted  her  fingers  and  peered  through 
them  at  Neville  and  Gaunt.  Then  she  remem- 
bered all,  and  began  to  cry  hysterically. 


23 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


New  dismay  of  the  unprofessionals ! 

"  Now,  gentlemen,  if  you  will  lend  me  your 
flasks, "  said  Mr.  Islip,  mighty  calmly. 

Griffith  and  Neville  were  instantly  at  his  side, 
each  with  a  flask. 

The  surgeon  administered  snow  and  brandy. 


"Don't  you  know?"  whispered  the  other  in 
return.     ' '  Why,  Mistress  Peyton  herself. " 

"What!  the  girl  it  is  all  about?  Well,  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing  :  the  causa  belli  to 
come  galloping  and  swooning  on  the  field  of  bat- 
tle, and  so  stop  the  fighting !     What  will  our  la- 


Kate  sipped  these,  and  gulped  down  her  sobs, 
and  at  last  cried  composedly. 

But  when  it  came  to  sipping  brandied  snow 
and  crying  comfortably,  Major  Rickards's  anxi- 
ety gave  place  to  curiosity.  Without  taking  his 
eye  off  her,  he  beckoned  Mr.  Hammersley  apart, 
and  whispered,  "Who  the  deuse  is  it?" 


dies  do  next  ?  By  heaven  !  she  is  worth  fight- 
ing for,  though.  Which  is  the  happy  man,  I 
wonder  ?     She  doesn't  look  at  either  of  them." 

"Ah!"  said  the  gentleman,  "that  is  more 
than  I  know,  more  than  Neville  knows,  more 
than  any  body  knows." 

"  Bet  you  a  guinea  she  knows,  and  lets  it  out 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


2b 


before  she  leaves  the  field,"  said  Major  Rick- 
ards. 

Mr.  Hammersley  objected  to  an  even  bet,  but 
said  he  would  venture  one  to  three  she  did  not. 
It  was  an  age  of  bets. 

"Done !"  said  the  major. 

By  this  time  Kate  had  risen,  with  Mr.  Islip's 
assistance,  and  was  now  standing  with  her  hand 
upon  the  piebald's  mane.  She  saw  Rickards  and 
Hammersley  were  whispering  about  her,  and  she 
felt  very  uneasy ;  so  she  told  Mr.  Islip,  timidly, 
she  desired  to  explain  her  conduct  to  all  the  gen- 
tlemen present,  and  avert  false  reports. 

They  were  soon  all  about  her,  and  she  began, 
with  the  most  engaging  embarrassment,  by  mak- 
ing excuses  for  her  weakness.  She  said  she  had 
ridden  all  the  way  from  home  fasting  ;  that  was 
what  had  upset  her.  The  gentlemen  took  the 
cue  directly,  and  vowed  eagerly  and  unanimous- 
ly it  was  enough  to  upset  a  porter. 

"But,  indeed,"  resumed  Kate,  blushing,  "I 
did  not  come  here  to  make  a  fuss,  and  be  troub- 
lesome, but  to  prevent  mischief,  and  clear  up  the 
strangest  misunderstanding  between  two  worthy 
gentlemen,  that  are,  both  of  them,  my  good 
friends. " 

She  paused,  and  there  was  a  chilling  silence : 
every  body  felt  she  was  getting  on  ticklish  ground 
now.  She  knew  that  well  enough  herself.  But  she 
had  a  good  rudder  to  steer  by,  called  Mother-wit. 

Says  she  with  inimitable  coolness, 

"Mr.  Gaunt  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  and  a 
little  too  sensitive  where  I  am  concerned.  Some 
chatterbox  has  been  and  told  him  Mr.  Neville 
should  say  I  have  changed  horses  with  him ;  and 
on  that  the  gossips  put  their  own  construction. 
Mr.  Gaunt  hears  all  this,  and  applies  insulting 
terms  to  Mr.  Neville.  Nay,  do  not  deny  it,  Mr. 
Gaunt,  for  I  have  it  here  in  your  own  hand- 
writing. 

"As  foraMr.  Neville,  he  merely  defends  his 
honor,  and  is  little  to  blame.  But  now  I  shall 
tell  the  true  story  about  these  horses,  and  make 
you  all  ashamed  of  this  sorry  quarrel. 

"  Gentlemen,  thus  it  is.  A  few  days  ago  Mr. 
Gaunt  bade  me  farewell,  and  started  for  foreign 
parts.  He  had  not  been  long  gone  when  word 
came  from  Bolton  that  Mr.  Charlton  was  no 
more.  You  know  how  sudden  it  was.  Consid- 
er, gentlemen  :  him  dead,  and  his  heir  riding  off 
to  the  Continent  in  ignorance.  So  I  thought, 
•  Oh,  what  shall  I  do  ?'  Just  then  Mr.  Neville 
visited  me,  and  I  told  him.  On  that  he  offered 
me  his  piebald  horse  to  carry  the  news  after  Mr. 
Gaunt,  because  my  gray  was  too  tired :  it  was 
the  day  we  drew  Yew-tree  Brow,  and  crossed 
Harrowden  Brook,  you  jpiow — " 

Griffith  interrupted  her. 

"Stay  a  bit,"  said  he:  "this  is  news  to  me. 
You  never  told  me  he  had  lent  you  the  piebald 
nag  to  do  me  a  good  turn." 

"Did  I  not?"  said  Kate,  mighty  innocently. 
"  Well,  but  I  tell  you  now.  Ask  him  :  he  can 
not  deny  it.  As  for  the  rest,  it  was  all  done  in 
a  hurry.  Mr.  Neville  had  no  horse  now  to  ride 
home  Avith ;  he  did  me  the  justice  to  think  I 
should  be  very  ill  pleased  were  he  to  trudge  home 
afoot  and  suffer  for  his  courtesy,  so  he  borrowed 
my  gray  to  keep  him  out  of  the  mire ;  and,  in- 
deed, the  ways  were  fouler  than  usual,  with  the 
rains.    Was  there  any  ill  in  all  this  ?    Honi  soit 

QUI  MAL  Y  PKNSE  !    Say  I." 


The  gentlemen  all  sided  loudly  with  her  on 
this  appeal,  except  Neville,  who  held  his  tongue, 
and  smiled  at  her  plausibility,  and  Griffith,  who 
hung  his  head  at  her  siding  with  Neville. 

At  last  he  spoke,  and  said,  sorrowfully,  "If 
you  did  exchange  horses  with  him,  of  course  I 
have  only  to  ask  his  pardon — and  go. " 

Catharine  reflected  a  moment  before  she  re 
plied. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "  I  did  exchange,  and  I  did 
not.  Why  quarrel  about  a  word  ?  Certainly  lie 
took  my  horse,  and  I  took  his,  but  it  was  only 
for  the  nonce.  Mr.  Neville  is  foreign  bred,  and 
an  example  to  us  all :  he  knows  his  piebald  is 
worth  two  of  my  gray,  and  so  he  was  too  fine  a 
gentleman  to  send  me  back  my  old  hunter  and 
ask  for  his  young  charger.  He  waited  for  me  to 
do  that ;  and  if  any  body  deserves  to  be  shot,  it 
must  be  Me.  But,  dear  heart,  I  did  not  foresee 
all  this  fuss  ;  I  said  to  myself,  '  La !  Mr.  Neville 
will  be  sure  to  call  on  my  father  or  me  some  day, 
or  else  I  shall  be  out  on  the  piebald  and  meet 
him  on  the  gray,  and  then  Ave  can  each  take  our 
OAvn  again. '  Was  I  so  far  out  in  my  reckoning  ? 
Is  not  that  my  Rosinante  yonder  ?  Here,  Tom 
Leicester,  you  put  my  side-saddle  on  that  gray 
horse,  and  the  man's  saddle  on  the  piebald  there. 
And  noAv,  Griffith  Gaunt,  it  is  your  turn :  you 
must  AvithdraAV  your  injurious  terms,  and  end 
this  superlatiA'e  folly." 

Griffith  hesitated. 

"Come,"  said  Kate,  "consider:  Mr.  Neville 
is  esteemed  by  all  the  county ;  you  are  the  only 
gentleman  in  it  avIio  has  ever  uttered  a  dispara- 
ging Avord  against  him.  Are  you  sure  you  are 
more  free  from  passion  and  prejudice,  and  Aviser 
than  all  the  county  ?  Oblige  me  and  do  Avhat  U 
right.  Come,  Griffith  Gaunt,  let  your  reason  un- 
say the  barbarous  words  your  passion  hath  ut- 
tered against  a  Avorthy  gentleman  Avhom  Ave  all 
esteem." 

Her  habitual  iufluence,  and  these  last  Avords, 
spoken  Avith  gentle  and  persuasive  dignity,  turn- 
ed the  scale.  Griffith  turned  to  Neville,  and  said 
in  a  Ioav  voice  that  he  began  to  fear  he  had  been 
hasty,  and  used  harsher  Avords  than  the  occasion 
justified :  he  Avas  going  to  stammer  out  some- 
thing more,  but  Neville  interrupted  him  Avith  a 
noble  gesture. 

"That  is  enough,  Mr.  Gaunt,"  said  he.  "I 
do  not  feel  quite  blameless  in  the  matter,  and 
have  no  Avish  to  mortify  an  honorable  adversary 
unnecessarily." 

"Very  handsomely  said,"  put  in  Major  Rick- 
ards ;  "  and  noAv  let  me  have  a  word.  I  say  that 
both  gentlemen  have  conducted  themselves  like 
men — under  fire ;  and  that  honor  is  satisfied,  and 
the  misunderstanding  at  an  end.  As  for  my  prin- 
cipal here,  he  has  shoAvn  he  can  fight,  and  hoav 
he  has  shoAvn  he  can  hear  reason  against  himself, 
Avhen  the  lips  of  beauty  utter  it.  I  approve  his 
conduct  from  first  to  last,  and  am  ready  to  de- 
fend it  in  all  companies,  and  in  the  field,  should 
it  ever  be  impugned. " 

Kate  colored  Avith  pleasure,  and  gave  her  hand 
eloquently  to  the  major.  He  boAved  OA'er  it,  and 
kissed  the  tips  of  her  fingers. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  said,  looking  on  him  noAv  as  a 
friend,  "  I  dreamed  I  saAV  Mr.  Neville  lying  dead 
upon  the  snoAV,  Avith  the  blood  trickling  from  his 
temple. " 

At  this,  Neville's  dark  cheek  gloAved  with  pleas- 


30 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


ure.  So !  it  was  her  anxiety  on  his  account  had 
brought  her  here. 

Griffith  heard  too,  and  sighed  patiently. 

Assured  by  Major  Richards  that  there  neither 
could  nor  should  be  any  more  fighting,  Kate 
made  her  adieus,  mounted  her  gray  horse,  and 
rode  off,  discreetly  declining  all  attendance.  She 
beckoned  Tom  Leicester,  however.  But  he  pre- 
tended not  to  see  the  signal,  and  let  her  go  alone. 
His  motive  for  lingering  behind  was  characteris- 
tic, and  will  transpire  shortly. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  Griffith  Gaunt  quiet- 
ly reminded  the  surgeon  that  there  was  a  bullet 
in  his  arm  all  this  time. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  said  Mr.  Islip,  "I  forgot 
that,  I  was  so  taken  up  with  the  lady." 

Griffith's  coat  was  now  taken  off,  and  the  bul- 
let searched  for :  it  had  entered  the  fleshy  part 
of  his  arm  below  the  elbow,  and,  passing  round 
the  bone,  projected  just  under  the  skin.  The 
surgeon  made  a  slight  incision,  and  then,  press- 
ing with  his  finger  and  thumb,  out  it  rolled. 
Griffith  put  it  in  his  pocket. 

Neville  had  remained  out  of  civility,  and  now 
congratulated  his  late  antagonist  and  himself  that 
it  was  no  worse. 

The  last  words  that  passed  between  the  rivals 
on  this  occasion  were  worth  recording,  and  char- 
acteristic of  the  time. 

Neville  addressed  Gaunt  with  elaborate  cour- 
tesy, and  to  this  effect : 

"I  find  myself  in  a  difficulty,  sir.  You  did 
me  the  honor  to  invite  me  to  Mr.  Charlton's  fu- 
reral,  and  I  accepted  ;  but  now  I  fear  to  intrude 
;t  guest,  the  sight  of  whom  may  be  disagreeable 
to  you.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  my  absence 
might  be  misconstrued  as  a  mark  of  disrespect, 
or  of  a  petty  hostility  I  am  far  from  feeling.  Be 
pleased,  therefore,  to  dispose  of  me  entirely  in 
this  matter." 

Griffith  reflected. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  "there  is  an  old  saying,  'Let 
every  tub  stand  on  its  own -bottom.'  The  de- 
ceased wished  you  to  follow  him  to  the  grave, 
and  thsrefore  I  would  on  no  account  have  you 
absent.  Besides,  now  I  think  of  it,  there  will  be 
less  gossip  about  this  unfortunate  business  if  our 
neighbors  see  you  under  my  roof,  and  treated 
with  due  consideration  there,  as  you  will  be." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  that,  sir,  from  so  manly  an 
adversary ;  and  I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  to 
come. " 

Such  was  Neville's  reply.  The  rivals  then  sa- 
luted each  other  profoundly,  and  parted. 

Hammersley  and  Richards  lingered  behind 
their  principals  to  settle  their  little  bet  about 
Kate's  affections  ;  and,  by-the-by,  they  were  in- 
discreet enough  to  discuss  this  delicate  matter 
within  a  dozen  yards  of  Tom  Leicester :  they 
forgot  that  "little  pitchers  have  long  ears." 

Catharine  Peyton  rode  slowly  home,  and 
thought  it  all  over  as  she  went,  and  worried 
herself  finely.  She  was  one  that  winced  at  no- 
toriety, and  she  could  not  hope  to  escape  it  now. 
How  the  gossips  would  talk  about  her !  They 
would  say  the  gentlemen  had  fought  about  her, 
and  she  had  parted  them  for  love  of  one  of  them. 
And  then  the  gentlemen  themselves !  The  strict 
neutrality  she  had  endeavored  to  maintain  on 
Scutchemsee  Nob,  in  order  to  make  peace,  would 
it  not  keep  them  both  her  suitors  ?    She  foresaw 


she  should  be  pulled  to  pieces,  and  live  in  hot 
water,  and  be  "  the  talk  of  the  county." 

There  were  but  two  ways  out :  she  must  marry 
one  of  them,  and  petition  the  other  not  to  shoot 
him  ;  or  else  she  must  take  the  veil,  and  so  es- 
cape them  both. 

She  preferred  the  latter  alternative.  She  was 
more  enthusiastic  in  religion  than  in  any  earthly 
thing ;  and  now  the  angry  passions  of  men  thrust 
her  the  same  road  that  her  own  devout  mind 
had  always  drawn  her. 

As  soon  as  she  got  home,  she  sent  a  message 
to  Father  Francis,  Avho  drove  her  conscience, 
and  begged  him  to  come  and  advise  her. 

After  that  she  did  the  wisest  thing,  perhaps, 
she  had  done  all  day — went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

The  sun  was  just  setting  when  Catharines, 
maid  came  into  her  room  and  told  her  Father 
Francis  was  below.  She  sent  down  to  say  she 
counted  on  his  sleeping  at  Peyton  Hall,  and  she 
would  come  down  to  him  in  half  an  hour.  She 
then  ordered  a  refection  to  be  prepared  fcr  him 
in  her  boudoir,  and  made  her  toilet  with  all  rea- 
sonable speed,  not  to  keep  him  waiting.  Her 
face  beamed  with  quiet  complacency  now,  for 
the  holy  man's  veiy  presence  in  the  house  was  a 
comfort  to  her. 

Father  Francis  was  a  very  stout,  muscular 
man,  with  a  ruddy  countenance ;  he  never  wore 
gloves,  and  you  saw  at  once  he  was  not  a  gen- 
tleman by  birth.  He  had  a  fine  voice :  it  was 
deep,  mellow,  and,  when  he  chose,  sonorous. 
This,  and  his  person,  ample,  but  not  obese,  gave 
him  great  weight,  especially  with  his  female  pu- 
pils. If  he  was  not  quite  so  much  reverenced  by 
the  men,  yet  he  was  both  respected  and  liked  ;  in 
fact,  he  had  qualities  that  make  men  welcome  in 
every  situation  —  good  humor,  good  *sense,  and 
tact.  A  good  son  of  his  Church,  and  early 
trained  to  let  no  occasion  slip  of  advancing  her 
interests. 

I  wish  my  readers  could  have  seen  the  meet- 
ing between  Catharine  Peyton  and  this  burly 
ecclesiastic.  She  came  into  the  drawing-room 
with  that  imperious  air  and  carriage  which  had 
made  her  so  unpopular  with  her  own  sex,  and  at 
the  bare  sight  of  Father  Francis,  drooped  and 
bent  in  a  moment  as  she  walked,  and  her  whole 
body  indicated  a  submissiveness,  graceful,  but 
rather  abject :  it  was  as  if  a  young  poplar  should 
turn  to  a  weeping  willow  in  half  a  moment. 
Thus  metamorphosed,  the  Beauty  of  Cumber- 
land glided  up  to  Francis,  and  sank  slowly  on 
her  knees  before  him,  crossed  her  hands  on  her 
bosom,  lowered  her  lovely  head,  and  awaited  his 
benediction. 

The  father  laid  two  big,  coarse  hands,  with 
enormous  fingers,  on  that  thorough-bred  head 
and  golden  hair,  and  blessed  her  business-like. 

"The  hand  of  less  employment  hath  the  daimier 
seuse."-rShakspeare. 

Father  Francis  blessed  so  many  of  these  pret- 
ty creatures  every  week  that  he  had  long  out- 
grown your  fine,  romantic  way  of  blessing  a 
body.  (We  manage  these  things  better  in  the 
theatre.)  Then  he  lent  her  his  hand  to  rise, 
and  asked  her  in  what  she  required  his  direction 
at  present. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


3! 


"In  that  which  shall  decide  my  whole  life," 
said  she. 

Francis  responded  by  a  look  of  paternal  inter- 
est. 

"  But  first,"  murmured  she,  "let  me  confess 
to  you,  and  obtain  absolution,  if  I  may.  Ah !  fa- 
ther, my  sins  have  been  many  since  last  confes- 
sion." 

"Be  it  so,"  said  Father  Francis,  resignedly. 
"Confession  is  the  best  preface  .to  Direction." 
And  he  seated  himself  with  a  certain  change  of 
manner,  an  easy  assumption  of  authority. 

"  Kay,  .ather,"  suggested  the  lady, "  we  shall 
be  more  private  in  my  room. " 

"As  you  will,  Mistress  Catharine  Peyton," 
said  the  priest,  returning  to  his  usual  manner. 

So  then  the  fair  penitent  led  her  spiritual  judge 
captive  up  another  flight  of  stairs,  and  into  her 
little  boudoir.  A  cheerful  wood  fire  crackled 
and  flamed  up  the  chimney,  and  a  cloth  had  been 
laid  on  a  side-table :  cold  turkey  and  chine  graced 
the  board,  and  a  huge  glass  magnum  of  purple 
Burgundy  glowed  and  shone  in  the  rays  of  the 
cheery  fire. 

Father  Francis  felt  cozy  at  the  sight,  and  at 
once  accepted  Kate's  invitation  to  take  some 
nourishment  before  entering  on  the  labor  of  lis- 
tening to  the  catalogue  of  her  crimes.  "  I  fasted 
yesterday,"  he  muttered;  and  the  zeal  with  which 
he  attacked  the  viands  rendered  the  statement 
highly  credible. 

He  invited  Kate  to  join  him,  but  she  declined. 

He  returned  more  than  once  to  the  succulent 
meats,  and  washed  all  down  with  a  pint  of  the 
fine  old  Burgundy,  perfumed  and  purple.  Mean- 
time she  of  the  laity  sat  looking  into  the  fire 
with  heavenly-minded  eyes. 

At  last,  with  a  gentle  sigh  of  content,  the 
ghostly  father  installed  himself  in  an  arm-chair 
by  the  fire,  and  invited  his  penitent  to  begin. 

She  took  a  footstool  and  brought  it  to  his  side, 
so  that,  in  confessing  her  blacker  vices,  she  might 
be  able  to  whisper  them  in  his  very  ear.  She 
kneeled  on  her  little  footstool,  put  her  hands 
across  her  breast,  and  in  this  lowly  attitude  mur- 
mured softly  after  this  fashion,  with  a  contrite 
voice : 

"I  have  to  accuse  myself  of  many  vices. 
Alas  !  in  one  short  fortnight  I  have  accumulated 
the  wickedness  of  a  life.  I  have  committed  the 
seven  deadly  sins.  I  have  been  guilty  of  Pride, 
Wrath,  Envy,  Disobedience,  Immodesty,  Vanity, 
Concupiscence,  Fibs — " 

"  Gently,  daughter,"  said  the  priest,  quietly  ; 
"  these  terms  are  too  general :  give  me  instan- 
ces. Let  us  begin  with  Wrath :  ah !  we  are  all 
prone  to  that." 

The  fair  penitent  sighed  and  said,' 

"  Especially  me.  Example :  I  was  angiy  be- 
yond reason  with  my  maid,  Ruth.  (She  does 
comb  my  hair  so  uncouthly !)  So,  then,  the 
other  night,  when  I  was  in  trouble,  and  most 
needed  soothing  by  being  combed  womanly,  she 
gets  thinking  of  Harry,  that  helps  in  the  stable, 
and  she  tears  away  at  my  hair.  I  started  up  and 
screamed  out,  '  Oh,  you  clumsy  thing  !  go  curry- 
comb my  horse,  and  send  that  oaf  your  head 'is 
running  on  to  handle  my  hair.'  And  I  told  her 
my  grandam  would  have  whipped  her  well  for  it, 
but  nowadays  mistresses  were  the  only  sufferers : 
we  had  lost  the  use  of  our  hands,  we  are  grown 
so  squeamish.     And  I  stamped  like  a  fury,  and 


said, 'Get  you  gone  out  of  the  room!'  and  '  1 
hated  the  sight  of  her  !'  And  the  poor  girl  went 
from  me,  crying,  without  a  word,  being  a  better 
Christian  than  her  mistress.  Mea  culpa!  mea 
culpa!" 

"  Did  you  slap  her?" 

"  Nay,  father,  not  so  bad  as  that." 

' '  Are  you  quite  sure  you  did  not  slap  her  ?" 
asked  Francis,  quietly. 

"Nay.  But  I  had  a  mind  to.  My  heart 
slapped  her,  if  my  hand  forbore.     Alas  !" 

"  Had  she  hurt  you  ?" 

"That  she  did — but  only  my  head.  I  hurt 
her  heart ;  for  the  poor  wench  loves  me  dear, 
the  Lord  knows  for  what." 

"  Humph  !  proceed  to  pride." 

"  Yes,  father.  I  do  confess  that  I  was  greatly 
puffed  up  with  the  praises  of  men.  I  was  proud 
of  the  sorriest  things  :  of  jumping  a  brook,  when 
'twas  my  horse  jumped  it,  and  had  jumped  it  bet- 
ter with  a  fly  on  his  back  than  the  poor  worm 
Me ;  of  my  good  looks,  forgetting  that  God  gave 
them  me  ;  and,  besides,  I  am  no  beauty,  when  all 
is  done ;  it  is  all  their  flattery.  And  at  my  Lady 
Munster's  dinner  I  pridefully  walked  out  before 
Mistress  Davies,  the  rich  cheesemonger's  wifef 
that  is  as  proud  of  her  money  as  I  of  my  old 
blood  (God  forgive  two  fools !),  which  I  had  no 
right  to  do — a  maid  to  walk  before  a  wife ;  and 
oh,  father,  I  whispered  the  gentleman  who  led  me 
out — it  was  Mr.  Neville — " 

Here  the  penitent  put  one  hand  before  her 
face,  and  hesitated. 

"  Well,  daughter,  half  confession  is  no  confes- 
sion.    You  said  to  Mr.  Neville — " 

"  I  said.  ?  Nothing  comes  after  cheese.'  " 

This  revelation  was  made  most  dolefully. 

"It  was  pert  and  unbecoming,"  said  Father 
Francis,  gravely,  though  a  twinkle  in  his  eve 
showed  that  he  was  not  so  profoundly  shocked  as 
his  penitent  appeared  to  be.  "  But  go  to  graver 
matters.  Immodesty,  said  yen  ?  I  shall  be  very 
sorry  if  this  is  so.  You  did  not  use  to  be  im- 
modest." 

"Well,  father,  I  hope  I  have  not  altogether 
laid  aside  modesty,  otherwise  it  would  be  time 
for  me  to  die,  let  alone  to  confess ;  but  sure  it 
can  not  be  modest  of  me  to  ride  after  a  gentle- 
man and  take  him  a  letter.  And  then  that  was 
not  enough  :  I  heard  of  a  duel,  and  what  did  1 
do  but  ride  to  Scutchemsee  Nob,  and  interfere  ? 
What  gentlewoman  ever  was  so  bold  ?  I  was  not 
their  wife,  you  know — neither  of  them's." 

"Humph!"  said  the  priest,  "I  have  already 
heard  a  whisper  of  this,  but  told  to  your  credit. 
Beati  pacijici :  Blessed  are  the  peacemakers. 
You  had  better  lay  that  matter  before  me  by-and- 
by,  as  your  director.  As  your  confessor,  tell  me 
why  you  accuse  yourself  of  concupiscence." 

"Alas!"  said  the  young  lady,  "scarce  a  day 
passes  that  I  do  not  offend  in  that  respect.  Ex- 
ample :  last  Friday,  dining  abroad,  the  cooks  sent 
up  a  dish  of  collops.  Oh,  father,  they  smelt  so 
nice !  and  I  had  been  a-hunting.  First  I  smelt 
them,  and  that  I  couldn't  help ;  but  then  I  for- 
got custodia  oculorum,  and  I  eyed  them  ;  and  the 
next  thing  was,  presently — somehow — two  of  'em 
were  on  my  plate." 

"  Very  wrong, " said  Francis;  "but  that  is  a 
harsher  term  than  I  should  have  applied  to  this 
longing  of  a  hungry  woman  for  collops  o'  Friday. 
Pray,  what  do  you  understand  by  that  big  word  ?" 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY, 


"Why,  you  explained  it  yourself  in  your  last 
sermon.  It  means  '  unruly  and  inordinate  de- 
sires. '  Example :  Edith  Hammersley  told  me  I 
was  mad  to  ride  in  scarlet,  and  me  so  fair  and 
my  hair  so  light.  'Green  or  purple  is  your 
color,' says  she;  and  soon  after  this  didn't  I  see 
in  Stanhope  town  the  loveliest  piece  of  purple 
broadcloth  ?  Oh,  father,  it  had  a  gloss  like  vel- 
vet, and'the  sun  did  so  shine  on  it  as  it  lay  in  the 
shop-window ;  it  was  fit  for  a  king  or  a  bishop ; 
and  I  stood  and  gloated  on  it,  and  pined  for  it, 
and  died  for  it,  and  down  went  the  Tenth  Com- 
mandment." 

"Ah!"  said  Francis,  "the  hearts  of  women 
are  set  on  vanity !  But  tell  me — these  unruly 
affections  of  yours,  are  they  ever  fixed  on  per- 
sons of  the  other  sex  ?" 

The  fair  sinner  reflected. 

"On  gentlemen?"  said  she.  "Why,  they 
come  pestering  of  their  own  accord.  No,  no — I 
could  do  without  them  very  well.  What  I  sinful- 
ly pine  for  is  meat  on  a  Friday  assure  as  ever 
the  day  comes  round,  and  high-couraged  horses 
to  ride,  and  fine  clothes  to  wear  every  day  in  the 
week.     Mea  culpa!  mea  culpa!" 

Such  being  the  dismal  state  of  things,  Francis 
slyly  requested  her  to  leave  the  seven  deadly  sins 
in  peace,  and  go  to  her  small  offenses ;  for  he 
argued,  shrewdly  enough,  that,  since  her  sins 
were  peccadilloes,  perhaps  some  of  her  peccadil- 
loes might  turn  out  to  be  sins. 

"  Small !"  cried  the  culprit,  turning  red,  "  they 
are  none  of  them  small." 

I  really  think  she  was  jealous  of  her  reputation 
as  a  sinner  of  high  degree. 

However,  she  complied,  and,  putting  up  her 
mouth,  murmured  a  miscellaneous  confession 
without  end.  The  accents  were  soft  and  music- 
al, like  a  babbling  brook ;  and  the  sins,  such  as 
they  were,  poor  things !  rippled  on  in  endless  ro- 
tation. 

Now  nothing  tends  more  to  repose  than  a  purl- 
ing brook,  and  ere  long  something  sonorous  let 
the  fair  culprit  know  she  had  lulled  her  confessor 
asleep. 

She  stopped,  indignant.  But  at  that  he  in- 
stantly awoke  (sublatd  causa,  tollitur  effectus),  and 
addressed  her  thus,  with  sudden  dignity,  ' '  My 
daughter,  you  will  fast  on  Monday  next,  and  say 
two  Aves  and  a  Credo.     Absolvo  te." 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "as  I  am  a  practical 
man,  let  us  get  back  from  the  imaginary  world 
into  the  real.  Speak  to  me  at  present  as  your 
director ;  and  mind,  you  must  be  serious  now, 
and  call  things  by  their  right  names." 

Upon  this  Kate  took  a  seat,  and  told  her  story, 
and  showed  him  the  difficulty  she  was  in. 

She  then  reminded  him  that,  notwithstanding 
her  unfortunate  itch  for  the  seven  deadly  sins, 
she  was  a  good  Catholic,  a  zealous  daughter  of 
the  Church ;  and  she  let  him  know  her  desire  to 
retire  from  both  lovers  into  a  convent,  and  so, 
freed  from  the  world  and  its  temptations,  yield 
up  her  soul  entire  to  celestial  peace  and  divine 
contemplation. 

"  Not  so  fast,"  said  the  priest.  "  Even  zeal  is 
naught  without  obedience.  If  you  could  serve 
the  Church  better  than  by  going  into  a  convent, 
would  you  be  willful  ?" 

"Oh  no,  father!  But  how  can  I  serve  the 
Church  better  than  by  renouncing  the  world  ?" 

"Perhaps  by  remaining  in  the  world,  as  she 


herself  does — and  by  making  converts  to  the 
faith.  You  could  hardly  serve  her  worse  than  by 
going  into  a  convent ;  for  our  convents  are  poor, 
and  you  have  no  means  ;  you  would  be  a  charge. 
No,  daughter,  we  want  no  poor  nuns ;  we  have 
enough  of  them.  If  you  are,  as  I  think,  a  true 
and  zealous  daughter  of  the  Church,  you  must 
marry,  and  instill  the  true  faith,  with  all  a  moth- 
er's art,  a  mother's  tenderness,  into  your  children. 
Then  the  heir  to  your  husband's  estates  will  be 
a  Catholic,  and  so  the  true  faith  get  rooted  in  the 
soil." 

"  Alas !"  said  Catharine,  "  are  we  to  look  but 
to  the  worldly  interests  of  the  Church  ?" 

' '  They  are  inseparable  from  her  spiritual  in- 
terests here  on  earth ;  our  souls  are  not  more 
bound  to  our  bodies." 

Catharine  was  deeply  mortified. 

"So  the  Church  rejects  me  because  I  am 
poor,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh. 

' '  The  Church  rejects  you  not,  but  only  the 
convent.  No  place  is  less  fit  for  you.  You  have 
a  high  spirit,  and  high  religious  sentiments ;  both 
would  be  mortified  and  shocked  in  a  nunnery. 
Think  you  that  convent-walls  can  shut  out  tempt- 
ation ?  I  know  them  better  than  you :  they  are 
strong-holds  of  vanity,  folly,  tittle-tattle,  and  all 
the  meanest  vices  of  your  sex.  Nay,  I  forbid 
you  to  think  of  it :  show  me  now  your  faith  by 
your  obedience. " 

"  You  are  harsh  to  me,  father, "  said  Catharine, 
piteously. 

"lam  firm.  You  are  one  that  needs  a  tight 
hand,  mistress.  Come,  now,  humility  and  obe- 
dience, these  are  the  Christian  graces  that  best 
become  your  youth.  Say,  can  the  Church, 
through  me,  its  minister,  count  on  these  from 
you?  or"  (suddenly  letting  loose  his  diapason) 
' '  did  you  send  for  me  to  ask  advice,  and  yet  go 
your  own  way,  hiding  a  high  stomach  and  a  will- 
ful heart  under  a  show  of  humility  ?" 

Catharine  looked  at  Father  Francis  with  dis- 
may. This  was  the  first  time  that  easy-going 
priest  had  shown  her  how  impressive  he  could 
be.  She  was  downright  frightened,  and  said  she 
hoped  she  knew  better  than  to  defy  her  director ; 
she  laid  her  will  at  his  feet,  and  would  obey  him 
like  a  child,  as  was  her  duty. 

"Now  I  know  my  daughter  again,"  said  he, 
and  gave  her  his  horrible  paw,  the  which  she 
kissed  very  humbly,  and  that  matter  was  settled 
to  her  entire  dissatisfaction. 

Soon  after  that  they  were  both  summoned  to 
supper ;  but  as  they  went  down,  Kate's  maid 
drew  her  aside  and  told  her  a  young  man  want- 
ed to  speak  to  her. 

"A  young  man?"  screamed  Kate.  "Hang 
young  men !  They  have  got  me  a  fine  scolding 
just  now !     Which  is  it,  pray  ?" 

"  He  is  a  stranger  to  me." 

"Perhaps  he  comes  with  a  message  from 
some  fool.  You  may  bring  him  to  me  in  the 
hall,  and  stay  with  us  :  it  may  be  a  thief,  for 
aught  I  know." 

The  maid  soon  reappeared,  followed  by  Mr. 
Thomas  Leicester. 

That  young  worthy  had  lingered  on  Scutch- 
emsee  Nob  to  extract  the  last  drop  of  enjoy- 
ment from  the  situation  by  setting  up  his  hat 
at  ten  paces,  and  firing  the  gentlemen's  pistols 
at  it.  I  despair  of  conveying  to  any  rational 
reader  the  satisfaction,  keen,  though  brief,  this 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


33 


afforded  him ;  it  was  a  new  sensation :  gentle- 
men's guns  he  had  fired  many,  but  dueling-pis- 
tols not  one,  till  that  bright  hour. 

He  was  now  come  to  remind  Catharine  of  his 
pecuniary  claims.  Luckily  for  him,  she  was  one 
who  did  not  need  to  be  reminded  of  her  prom- 
ises. 

' '  Oh,  !t  is  you,  child ! "  said  she.  ' *  Well,  I'll 
be  as  good  as  my  word. " 

She  then  dismissed  her  maid,  and  went  up 
stairs,  and  soon  returned  with  two  guineas,  a 
crown  piece,  and  three  shillings  in  her  hand. 

"There,"  said  she,  smiling,  "  I  am  sorry  for 
you,  but  that  is  all  the  money  I  have  in  the 
world." 

The  boy's  eyes  glittered  at  sight  of  the  coin : 
he  rammed  the  silver  into  his  pocket  with  hun- 
gry rapidity,  but  he  shook  his  head  about  the 
gold. 

"  I'm  afeard  o'  these,"  said  he,  and  eyed  them 
mistrustfully  in  his  palm.  "These  be  the 
friends  that  get  you  your  throat  cut  o'  dark 
nights.  Mistress,  please  you  keep  'em  for  me, 
and  let  me  have  a  shilling  now  and  then  when 
I'm  dry." 

"  Nay,"  said  Kate,  "but  are  you  not  afraid  I 
shall  spend  your  money,  now  I  have  none  left  of 
my  own?" 

Tom  seemed  quite  struck  with  the  reasonable- 
ness of  this  observation,  and  hesitated.  Howev- 
er, he  concluded  to  risk  it. 

"You  don't  look  one  of  the  sort  to  wrong  a 
poor  fellow,"  said  he ;  "  and,  besides,  you'll  have 
brass  to  spare  of  your  own  before  long,  I  know." 

Kate  opened  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  indeed !"  said  she ;  "  and,  pray,  how  do 
you  know  that  ?" 

Mr.  Leicester  favored  her  with  a  knoAving 
wink.  He  gave  her  a  moment  to  digest  this, 
and  then  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  Hearkened 
the  gentlefolks  on  Scutchemsee  Nob  after  you 
was  gone  home,  mistress." 

Kate  was  annoyed. 

"What!  they  must  be  prating  as  soon  as 
one's  back  is  turned !  Talk  of  women's  tongues ! 
Now  what  did  they  say,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  It  was  about  the  bet,  ye  know." 

"  A  bet  ?     Oh,  that  is  no  affair  of  mine. " 

"Ay,  but  it  is.  Why, 'twas  you  they  were 
betting  on.  Seems  that  old  soger  and  Squire 
Hammersley  had  laid  three  guineas  to  one  that 
you  should  let  out  which  was  your  fancy  of  them 
two." 

Kate's  cheeks  were  red  as  fire  now ;  but  her 
delicacy  overpowered  her  curiosity,  and  she 
would  not  put  any  more  questions.  To  be  sure, 
young  Hopeful  needed  none ;  he  was  naturally  a 
chatterbox,  and  he  proceeded  to  tell  her  that,  as 
soon  as  ever  she  was  gone,  Squire  Hammersley 
took  a  guinea  and  offered  it  to  the  old  soger, 
and  told  him  he  had  won,  and  the  old  soger 
pocketed  it.  But  after  that,  somehow,  Squire 
Hammersley  let  drop  that  Mr.  Neville  was  the 
favorite. 

"  Then,"  continued  Mr.  Leicester,  "  what  does 
the  old  soger  do  but  pull  out  guinea  again,  and 
says  he, ' ' '  You  must  have  this  back  ;  bet  is  not 
won ;  for  you  do  think  'tis  Neville ;  now  I  do 
think  'tis  Gaunt.' 

"  So  then  they  fell  to  argufying  and  talking  a 
lot  o'  stuff." 

"  No  doubt,  the  insolent  meddlers !     Can  you 


remember  any  of  their  nonsense? — not  that  it 
is  worth  remembering,  I'll  be  bound." 

' '  Let  me  see.  Well,  Squire  Hammersley,  he 
said  you  owned  to  dreaming  of  Squire  Neville, 
and  that  was  a  sign  of  love,  said  he ;  and,  be- 
sides, you  sided  with  him  against  t'other.  But 
the  old  soger,  he  said  you  called  Squire  Gaunt 
'  Griffith  ;'  and  he  built  on  that.  Oh,  and  a  said 
you  changed  the  horses  back  to  please  our  squire. 
Says  he, 

"  '  You  must  look  to  what  the  lady  did ;  never 
heed  what  she  said.  Why,  their  sweet  lips  was 
only  made  to  kiss  us,  and  deceive  us,'  says  that 
there  old  soger." 

"  I'll — I'll —  And  what  did  you  say,  sir?— 
for  I  suppose  your  tongue  was  not  idle." 

"  Oh,  me  ?  I  never  let  'em  know  I  was  heark- 
ening, or  they'd  have  'greed  in  a  moment  for  to 
give  me  a  hiding.  Besides,  I  had  no  need  to 
cudgel  my  brains ;  I'd  only  to  ask  you  plump. 
You'll  tell  me,  I  know.  Which  is  it,  mistress  ? 
I'm  for  Gaunt,  you  know,  in  course.  Alack, 
mistress,"  gabbled  this  voluble  youth,  "  sure  you 
won't  be  so  hard  as  sack  my  squire,  and  him  got 
a  bullet  in  his  carcass,  for  love  of  you,  this  day." 

Kate  started,  and  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  "a  bullet!  Did  they  fight 
again  the  moment  they  saw  my  back  was  turn- 
ed ?    The  cowards !" 

And  she  began  to  tremble. 

"No,  no,"  said  Tom,  "that  was  done  before 
ever  you  came  up.  Don't  ye  remember  that 
single  shot  while  we  were  climbing  the  Nob? 
Well,  'twas  Squire  Gaunt  got  it  in  the  arm  that 
time. " 

"Oh!" 

"But,  I  say,  wasn't  our  man  game?  Never 
let  out  he  was  hit  while  you  was  there ;  but  as 
soon  as  ever  you  was  gone,  they  cut  the  bullet 
out  of  him,  and  I  seen  it. " 

"Ah!  ah!" 

"Doctor  takes  out  his  knife — precious  sharp 
and  shiny  'twas! — cuts  into  his  arm  with  no 
more  ado  than  if  he  was  carving  a  pullet — out 
squirts  the  blood,  a  good  un." 

"Oh,  no  more!  no  more!  You  cruel  boy! 
how  could  you  bear  to  look?"  And  Kate  hid 
her  own  face  with  both  hands. 

"  Wiry,  -'twasn't  my  skin  as  was  cut  into. 
Squire  Gaunt,  he  never  hollered ;  a  winced, 
though,  and  ground  his  teeth  ;  but  'twas  over  in 
a  minute,  and  the  bullet  in  his  hand. 

"  'That  is  for  my  wife,'  says  he,  'if  ever  I 
have  one,'  and  puts  it  in  his  pocket. 

"  Why,  mistress,  you  be  as  white  as  your 
smock!" 

"  No,  no !     Did  he  faint,  poor  soul  ?" 

"  Not  he !     What  was  there  to  faint  about  ?" 

"  Then  why  do  I  feel  so  sick,  even  to  hear  of 
it?" 

"Because  you  ha'n't  got  no  stomach,"  said 
the  boy,  contemptuously.  "Your  courage  is 
skin-deep,  I'm  thinking.  However,  I'm  glad 
you  feel  for  our  squire  about  the  bullet ;  so  now 
I  hope  you  will  wed  with  Mm,  and  sack  Squire 
Neville.*  Then  you  and  I  shall  be  kind  o'  kin  : 
Squire  Gaunt's  feyther  was  my  feyther.  That 
makes  you  stare,  mistress.  Why,  all  the  folk  do 
know  it.  Look  at  this  here  little  mole  on  my 
forehead.  Squire  Gaunt  have  got  the  fellow  to 
that," 

At  this  crisis  of  his  argument  he  suddenly 


;j-t 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


caught  a  glimpse  of  his  personal  interest ;  in- 
stantly he  ceased  his  advocacy  of  Squire  Gaunt, 
and  became  ludicrously  impartial. 

"Well,  mistress,  wed  whichever  you  like," 
said  he,  with  sublime  indifference ;  "  only  which- 
ever you  do  wed,  prithee  speak  a  word  to  the 
gentleman,  and  get  me  to  be  his  gamekeeper. 
I'd  liever  be  yonr  goodman's  gamekeeper  than 
King  of  England." 

He  was  proceeding  with  vast  volubility  to 
enumerate  his  qualifications  for  that  confidential 
post,  when  the  lady  cut  him  short,  and  told  him 
to  go  and  get  his  supper  in  the  kitchen,  for  she 
was  wanted  elsewhere.  He  made  a  scrape,  and 
clattered  away  with  his  hobnailed  shoes. 

Kate  went  to  the  hall  window  and  opened  it, 
and  let  the  cold  air  blow  over  her  face. 

Her  heart  was  touched,  and  her  bosom  filled 
with  pity  for  her  old  sweetheart. 

How  hard  she  had  been !  She  had  sided  with 
Neville  against  the  wounded  man.  And  she 
thought  how  sadly  and  patiently  he  had  submit- 
ted to  her  decision — and  a  bullet  in  his  poor  arm 
all  the  time. 

The  gentle  bosom  heaved  and  heaved,  and  the 
tears  began  to  run. 

She  entered  the  dining-room  timidly,  expect- 
ing some  comment  on  her  discourteous  absence. 
Instead  of  that,  both  her  father  and  her  director 
rose  respectfully,  and  received  her  with  kind  and 
affectionate  looks.  They  then  pressed  her  to  eat 
this  and  that,  and  were  remarkably  attentive  and 
kind.  She  could  see  she  was  deep  in  their  good 
books.  This  pleased  her ;  but  she  watched  qui- 
etly, after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  to  learn  what  it 
was  all  about.  Nor  was  she  left  long  in  the  dark. 
Remarks  were  made  that  hit  her,  though  they 
were  none  of  them  addressed  to  her. 

Father  Francis  delivered  quite  a  little  homily 
on  Obedience,  and  said  how  happy  a  thing  it  was 
when  zeal,  a  virtue  none  too  common  in  these  de- 
generate days,  was  found  tempered  by  humility, 
and  subservient  to  ghostly  counsel  and  authority. 

Mr.  Peyton  dealt  in  no  general  topics  of  that 
kind ;  his  discourse  was  secular :  it  ran  upon 
Neville's  Cross,  Neville's  Court,  and  the  Baronet- 
cy ;  and  he  showed  Francis  how  and  why  this  ti- 
tle must  sooner  or  later  come  to  George  Neville 
and  the  heirs  of  his  body. 

Francis  joined  in  this  topic  for  a  while,  but 
speedily  diverged  into  what  might  be  called  a 
collateral  theme.  He  described  to  Kate  a  de- 
lightful spot  on  the  Neville  estate  where  a  nun- 
nery might  be  built  and  endowed  by  any  good 
Catholic  lady  having  zeal,  and  influence  with  the 
owner  of  the  estate,  and  with  the  lord  lieutenant 
of  the  county.  ■ 

"It  is  three  parts  an  island  (for  the  River 
Wey  curls  round  it  lovingly),  but  backed  by 
wooded  slopes  that  keep  off  the  north  and  east 
winds :  a  hidden  and  balmy  place,  such  as  the 
forefathers  of  the  Church  did  use  to  choose  for 
their  rustic  abbeys,  whose  ruins  still  survive  to 
remind  us  of  the  pious  aud  glorious  days  gone 
by.  Trout  and  salmon  come  swimming  to  the 
door ;  hawthorn  and  woodbine  are  as  rife  there 
as  weeds  be  in  some  parts ;  two  broad  oaks  stand 
on  turf  like  velvet,  and  ring  with  song-birds.  A 
spot  by  nature  sweet,  calm,  and  holy— good  for 
pious  exercises  and  heavenly  contemplation : 
there,  methinks,  if  it  be  God's  will  I  should  see 


old  age,  I  would  love  to  end  my  own  days,  at 
peace  with  Heaven  and  with  all  mankind." 

Kate  was  much  moved  by  this  picture,  and 
her  clasped  hands  and  glistening  eyes  showed 
the  glory  and  delight  it  would  be  to.  her  to  build 
a  convent  on  so  lovely  a  spot.  But  her  words 
were  vague.  "How  sweet!  how  sweet!"  was 
all  she  committed  herself  to.  For,  after  what 
Tom  Leicester  had  just  told  her,  she  hardly 
knew  what  to  say,  or  what  to  think,  or  what  to 
do ;  she  felt  she  had  become  a  mere  puppet,  first 
drawn  one  way,  then  another. 

One  thing  appeared  pretty  clear  to  her  now : 
Father  Francis  did  not  mean  her  to  choose  be- 
tween her  two  lovers ;  he  was  good  enough  to 
relieve  her  of  that  difficulty  by  choosing  for  her. 
She  was  to  marry  Neville. 

She  retired  to  rest  directly  after  supper,  for 
she  was  thoroughly  worn  out.  And  the  mo- 
ment she  rose  to  go,  her  father  bounced  up,  and 
lighted  the  bed-candle  for  her  with  novel  fervor, 
and  kissed  her  on  the  cheek,  and  said  in  her  ear, 
"  Good-night,  my  Lady  Neville !" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

What  with  the  day's  excitement,  and  a  sweet, 
secluded  convent  in  her  soul,  and  a  bullet  in  her 
bosom,  and  a  ringing  in  her  ear,  that  sounded 
mighty  like  "Lady  Neville!  Lady  Neville!  Lady 
Neville!"  Kate  spent  a  restless  night,  and  woke 
with  a  bad  headache. 

She  sent  her  maid  to  excuse  her,  on  this  score, 
from  going  to  Bolton  Hall.  But  she  was  in- 
formed in  reply  that  the  carnage  had  been  got 
ready  expressly  for  her,  so  she  must  be  good 
enough  to  shake  off  disease  and  go ;  the  air 
would  dp  her  a  deal  more  good  than  lying  abed. 

Thereupon  she  dressed  herself  in  her  black 
silk  gown  and  came  down,  looking  pale  and  lan- 
guid, but  still  quite  lovely  enough  to  discharge 
what  in  this  age  of  cant  I  suppose  we  should  call 
"  her  mission  ;*'  videlicet ,  to  set  honest  men  by 
the  ears. 

At  half  past  eight  o'clock  the  carriage  came 
round  to  the  front  door.  Its  body,  all  glorious 
with  the  Peyton  armorials  and  with  patches  of 
rusty  gilding,  swung  exceedingly  loose  on  long 
leathern  straps  instead  of  springs ;  and  the  fore 
wheels  were  a  mile  from  the  hind  wheels,  more 
or  less.  A  pretentious  and  horrible  engine — 
drawn  by  four  horses — only  two  of  them  being 
ponies  impaired  the  symmetry  and  majestic 
beauty  of  the  pageant.  Old  Joe  drove  the 
wheelers ;  his  boy  rode  the  leaders,  and  every 
now  and  then  got  off  and  kicked  them  in  the  pits 
of  their  stomachs,  or  pierced  them  with  hedge- 
stakes,  to  rouse  their  mettle.  Thus  encouraged 
and  stimulated,  they  effected  an  average  of  four 
miles  and  a  half  per  hour,  notwithstanding  the 
snow,  and  reached  Bolton  just  in  time.  At  the 
lodge,  Francis  got  out  and  lay  in  ambush — but 
only  for  a  time.  He  did  not  think  it  orthodox 
to  be  present  at  a  religious  ceremony  of  his  Prot- 
estant friends,  nor  common-sense-o-dox  to  turn 
his  back  upon  their  dinner. 

The  carriage  drew  up  at  the  hall  door.  It 
was  wide  open,  and  the  hall  lined  with  servants, 
male  and  female,  in  black.  In  the  midst,  be- 
tween these  two  rows,  stood  Griffith  Gaunt, 
bareheaded,  to  welcome  the  guests.     His  arm 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OK,  JEALOUSY. 


85 


was  in  a  sling.  He  had  received  all  the  others 
in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  but  he  came  to  the 
threshold  to  meet  Kate  and  her  father.  He 
bowed  low  and  respectfully,  then  gave  his  left 
hand  to  Kate  to  conduct  her,  after  the  formal 
fashion  of  the  day.  The  sight  of  his  arm  in  a 
sling  startled  and  affected  her^  and  with  him 
giving  her  his  hand  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
she  pressed  it,  or  indeed  squeezed  it  nervously, 
and  it  was  in  her  heart  to  say  something  kind 
and  womanly ;  but  her  father  was  close  behind, 
and  she  was  afraid  of  saying  something  too  kind, 
if  she  said  any  thing  at  all,  so  Griffith  only  got  a 
little  gentle  nervous  pinch.  But  that  was  more 
than  he  expected,  and  sent  a  thrill  of  delight 
through  him  ;  his  brown  eyes  replied  with  a  vol- 
ume, and  holding  her  hand  up  in  the  air  as  high 
as  her  ear,  and  keeping  at  an  incredible  distance, 
he  led  her  solemnly  to  a  room  where  the  other 
ladies  were,  and  left  her  there  with  a  profound 
bow. 

The  Feytons  were  nearly  the  last  persons  ex- 
pected, and  soon  after  their  arrival  the  tuneral 
procession  formed.  This  part  was  entirely  ar- 
ranged by  the  undertaker.  The  monstrous  cus- 
tom of  forbidding  ladies  to  follow  their  dead  had 
not  yet  occurred  even  to  the  idiots  of  the  nation, 
and  Mr.  Feyton  and  his  daughter  were  placed  in 
the  second  carriage.  The  first  contained  Grif- 
fith Gaunt  alone,  as  head  mourner.  But  the 
Feytons  were  not  alone :  no  other  relation  of 
the"  deceased  being  present,  the  undertaker  put 
Mr.  Neville  with  the  Feytons,  because  he  was 
heir  to  a  baronetcy. 

Kate  was  much  startled  and  astonished  to  see 
him  come  out  into  the  hall.  But  when  he  en- 
tered the  carriage  she  welcomed  him  warmly. 
"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  here !"  said  she. 

"Guess  by  that  what  my  delight  at  meeting 
you  must  be,"  said  he. 

She  blushed  and  turned  it  off.  "I  mean,  that 
your  coming  here  gives  me  good  hopes  there 
will  be  no  more  mischief/'  She  then  lowered  her 
voice,  and  begged  him  on  no  account  to  tell  her 
papa  of  her  ride  to  Scutchemsee  Nob. 

"Not  a  word,"  said  George.  He  knew  the 
advantage  of  sharing  a  secret  with  a  fair  lady. 
He  proceeded  to  whisper  something  very  warm 
in  her  ear :  she  listened  to  some  of  it,  but  then 
remonstrated,  and  said,  "Are  you  not  ashamed 
to  go  on  so  at  a  funeral  ?  Oh,  do  pray  leave 
compliments  a  moment,  and  think  of  your  latter 
end." 

He  took  this  suggestion,  as  indeed  he  did 
every  thing  from  her,  in  good  part,  and  com- 
posed his  visage  into  a  decent  gravity. 

Soon  after  this  they  reached  the  church,  and 
buried  the  deceased  in  his  family  vault. 

Feople  who  are  not  bereaved  by  the  death  are 
always  inclined  to  chatter  coming  home  from  a 
funeral.  Kate  now  talked  to  Neville  of  her  own 
accord,  and  asked  him  if  he  had  spoken  to  his 
host.  He  said  yes,  and,  more  than  that,  had 
come  to  a  clear  understanding  with  him.  "  We 
agreed  that  it  Avas  no  use  fighting  for  you.  I 
said,  if  either  of  us  two  was  to  kill  the  other,  it 
did  not  follow  you  would  wed  the  survivor." 

' '  Me  wed  the  wretch !"  said  Kate.  ' '  I  should 
abhor  him,  and  go  into  a  convent  in  spite  of  you 
all,  and  end  my  days  praying  for  the  murdered 
man's  soul." 


"Neither  of  us  is  worth  all  that,"  suggested 
Neville,  with  an  accent  of  conviction. 

"That  is  certain,"  replied  the  lady,  dryly; 
"so  please  not  to  do  it." 

He  bade  her  set  her  mind  at  ease :  they  had 
both  agreed  to  try  and  win  her  by  peaceful  arts. 

"  Then  a  pretty  life  mine  will  be !" 

"  Well,  I  think  it  will,  till  you  decide." 

"I  could  easily  decide,  if  it  were  not  for  giv- 
ing pain  to — somebody. " 

1 '  Oh,  you  can't  help  that.  My  sweet  mistress, 
you  are  not  the  first  that  has  had  to  choose  be- 
tween two  worthy  men.  For,  in  sooth,  I  have 
nothing  to  say  against  my  rival  neither.  I  know 
him  better  than  I  did  :  he  is  a  very  worthy  gen- 
tleman, though  he  is  damnably  in  my  way." 

"  And  you  are  a  very  noble  one  to  say  so." 

"And  you  are  one  of  those  that  make  a  man 
noble  :  I  feel  that  petty  arts  are  not  the  way  to 
win  you,  and  I  scorn  them.  Sweet  Mistress 
Kate,  I  adore  you !  You  are  the  best  and  no- 
blest, as  well  as  the  loveliest  of  women!" 

"Oh,  hush,  Mr. Neville !  I  am  a  creature  of 
clay — and  you  are  another — and  both  of  us  com- 
ing home  from  a  funeral.     Do  think  of  that." 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  Mr.  Feyton 
asking  Kate  to  lend  him  a  shilling  for  the  groom. 
Kate  replied  aloud  that  she  had  left  her  purse  at 
home,  then  whispered  in  his  ear  that  she  had  not 
a  shilling  in  the  world ;  and  this  was  strictly 
true,  for  her  little  all  was  Tom  Leicester's  now. 
With  this  they  reached  the  Hall,  and  the  coy 
Kate  gave  both  Neville  and  Gaunt  the  slip,  and 
got  among  her  mates.  There  her  tongue  went 
as  fast  as  her  neighbors',  though  she  had  just 
come  back  from  a  funeral. 

But  soon  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  all  in- 
vited to  the  reading  of  the  will. 

And  now  chance,  which  had  hitherto  befriend- 
ed Neville  by  throwing  him  into  one  carriage 
with  Kate,  gave  Gaunt  a  turn.  He  found  her  a 
moment  alone  and  near  the  embrasure  of  a  win- 
dow. He  seized  the  opportunity,  and  asked  her 
might  he  say  a  word  in  her  ear.  "What  a 
question !"  said  she,  gayly ;  and  the  next  moment 
they  had  the  embrasure  to  themselves. 

' '  Kate,"  said  he,  hurriedly,  " in  a  few  minutes, 
I  suppose,  I  shall  be  master  of  this  place.  Now 
you  told  me  once  you  would  rather  be  an  abbess 
or  a  nun  than  marry  me. " 

"  Did  I  ?"  said  Kate.  ' '  What  a  sensible  speech ! 
But  the  worst  of  it  is,  I'm  never  in  the  same 
mind  long." 

"Well, "replied  Griffith,  "I  think  of  all  that 
falls  from  your  lips,  and  your  will  is  mine ;  only, 
for  pity's  sake,  do  not  wed  any  man  but  me. 
You  have  known  me  so  long — why,  you  know 
the  worst  of  me  by  this  time,  and  you  have  only 
seen  the  outside  of  him." 

"  Detraction !  is  that  what  you  wanted  to  say 
to  me?"  asked  Kate,  freezing  suddenly. 

' '  Nay,  nay,  it  was  about  the  abbey.  I  find 
you  can  be  an  abbess  without  going  and  shutting 
yourself  up  and  breaking  one's  heart.  The  way 
is,  you  build  a  convent  in  Ireland,  and  endow  it ; 
and  then  you  send  a  nun  over  to  govern  it  under 
you.  Bless  your  heart,  you  can  do  any  thing 
with  money,  and  I  shall  have  money  enough  be- 
fore the  day  is  over.  To  be  sure,  I  did  intend  to 
build  a  kennel  and  keep  harriers,  and  yon  know 
that  costs  a  good  penny ;  but  we  couldn't  man- 
age a  kennel  and  an  abbey  too ;  so  now  down 


36 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


goes  the  English  kennel,  and  up  goes  the  Irish 
abbey." 

"But  you  are  a  Protestant  gentleman.  You 
could  not  found  a  nunnery." 

"But  my  wife  could.  Whose  business  is  it 
what  she  does  with  her  money  ?" 

"  With  your  money,  you  mean." 

"Nay,  with  hers,  when  I  give  it  her  with  all 
my  heart. " 

"  Well,  you  astonish  me,"  said  Kate,  thought- 
ftdly.  "Tell  me,  now,  who  put  it  into  your 
head  to  bribe  a  poor  girl  in  this  abominable 
way  ?" 

"Who  put  it  into  my  head?"  said  Griffith, 
looking  rather  puzzled;  "why,  I  suppose  my 
heart  put  it  into  my  head." 

Kate  smiled  very  sweetly  at  this  answer,  and 
a  wild  hope  thrilled  through  Griffith  that  per- 
haps she  might  be  brought  to  terms. 

But  at  this  crisis  the  lawyer  from  London  was 
announced,  and  Griffith,  as  master  of  the  house, 
was  obliged  to  seat  the  company.  He  looked 
bitterly  disappointed  at  the  interruption,  but  put 
a  good  face  on  it,  and  had  more  chairs  in,  and 
saw  them  all  seated,  beginning  with  Kate  and 
the  other  ladies. 

The  room  was  spacious,  and  the  entire  com- 
pany sat  in  the  form  of  a  horse-shoe. 

The  London  solicitor  was  introduced  by  Grif- 
fith, and  bowed  in  a  short,  business-like  way ; 
seated  himself  in  the  horse-shoe  aforesaid,  and 
began  to  read  the  will  aloud. 

It  was  a  lengthy  document,  and  there  is  noth- 
ing to  be  gained  by  repeating  every  line  of  it.  I 
pick  out  a  clause  here  and  there. 

"I,  Septimus  Charlton,  of  Hemshaw  Castle 
and  Bolton  Grange,  in  the  County  of  Cumber- 
land, Esquire,  being  of  sound  mind,  memory,  and 
understanding — thanks  be  to  God — do  make  this 
my  last  will  and  testament  as  follows  :  First,  I 
commit  my  soul  to  God  who  gave  it,  and  my 
body  to  the  earth  from  which  it  came.  I  desire 
my  executors  to  discharge  my  funeral  and  testa- 
mentary expenses,  my  just  debts,  and  the  lega- 
cies hereinafter  bequeathed,  out  of  my  personal 
estate." 

Then  followed  several  legacies  of  fifty  and  one 
hundred  guineas ;  then  several  small  legacies, 
such  as  the  following  : 

"To  my  friend  Edward  Peyton,  of  Peyton 
Hall,  Esquire,  ten  guineas  to  buy  a  mourning 
ring. 

"  To  the  worshipful  gentlemen  and  ladies  who 
shall  follow  my  body  to  the  grave,  ten  guineas 
each,  to  buy  a  mourning  ring." 

"To  my  wife's  cousin,  Griffith  Gaunt,  I  give 
and  bequeath  the  sum  of  two  thousand  pounds, 
the  same  to  be  paid  to  him  within  one  calendar 
month  from  the  date  of  my  decease. 

"And  as  to  all  my  messuages,  or  tenements, 
farms,  lands,  hereditaments,  and  real  estate,  of 
what  nature  or  what  kind  soever,  and  whereso- 
ever situate,  together  with  all  my  moneys,  mort- 
gages, chattels,  furniture,  plate,  pictures,  wine, 
liquors,  horses,  carriages,  stock,  and  all  the  rest, 
residue,  and  remainder  of  my  personal  estate  and 
effects  whatsoever  (after  the  payment  of  the  debts 
and  legacies  hereinbefore  mentioned),  I  give,  de- 
vise, and  bequeath  the  same  to  my  cousin,  Cath- 
arine Peyton,  daughter  of  Edward  Peyton,  Es- 
quire, of  Peyton  Hall,  in  the  County  of  Cumber- 


land, her  heirs,  executors,  administrators,  and 
assigns,  forever." 

When  the  lawyer  read  out  this  unexpected 
blow,  the  whole  company  turned  in  their  seats 
and  looked  amazed  at  her  who  in  a  second  and 
a  sentence  was  turned  before  their  eyes  from  the 
poorest  girl  in  Cumberland  to  an  heiress  in  her 
own  right,  and  proprietor  of  the  house  they  sat 
in,  the  chairs  they  sat  on,  and  the  lawn  they 
looked  out  at. 

Ay,  we  turn  to  the  rising  sun.  Very  few  look- 
ed at  Griffith  Gaunt  to  see  how  he  took  his  mis- 
tress's good  fortune,  that  was  his  calamity ;  yet 
his  face  was  a  book  full  of  strange  matter.  At 
first  a  flash  of  loving  joy  crossed  his  countenance ; 
but  this  gave  way  immediately  to  a  haggard  look, 
and  that  to  a  glare  of  despair. 

As  for  thelady,  she  cast  one  deprecating  glance, 
swifter  than  lightning,  at  him  she  had  disinher- 
ited, and  then  she  turned  her  face  to  marble.  In 
vain  did  curious  looks  explore  her  to  detect  the 
delight  such  a  stroke  of  fortune  would  have  given 
to  themselves.  Faulty,  but  great  of  soul,  and  on 
her  guard  against  the  piercing  eyes  of  her  own 
sex,  she  sat  sedate,  and  received  her  change  of 
fortune  with  every  appearanee  of  cool  composure 
and  exalted  indifference ;  and  as  for  her  dreamy 
eyes,  they  seemed  thinking  of  heaven,  or  some- 
thing almost  as  many  miles  away  from  money 
and  land. 

But  the  lawyer  had  not  stopped  a  moment  to 
see  how  people  took  it ;  he  had  gone  steadily  on 
through  the  usual  formal  clauses  ;  and  now  he 
brought  his  monotonous  voice  to  an  end,  and  add- 
ed, in  the  same  breath,  but  in  a  natural  and  cheer- 
ful tone,  "  Madam,  I  wish  you  joy." 

This  operated  like  a  signal.  The  company  ex- 
ploded in  a  body ;  and  then  they  all  came  about 
the  heiress,  and  congratulated  her  in  turn.  She 
courtesied  politely,  though  somewhat  coldly,  but 
said  not  a  word  in  reply  till  the  disappointed  one 
spoke  to  her. 

He  hung  back  at  first.  To  understand  his 
feelings,  it  must  be  remembered  that,  in  his  view 
of  things,  Kate  gained  nothing  by  this  bequest 
compared  with  what  he  lost.  As  his  wife,  she 
would  have  been  mistress  of  Bolton  Hall,  etc. 
But  now  she  was  placed  too  far  above  him.  Sick 
at  heart,  he  stood  aloof  while  they  all  paid  their 
court  to  her.  But  by-and-by  he  felt  it  would 
look  base  and  hostile  if  he  alone  said  nothing,  so 
he  came  forward,  struggling  visibly  for  compos- 
ure and  manly  fortitude. 

The  situation  was  piquant,  and  the  ladies' 
tongues  stopped  in  a  moment,  and  they  were  all 
eyes  and  ears. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


Griffith,  with  an  effort  he  had  not  the  skill 
to  hide,  stammered  out,  "Mistress  Kate,  I  do 
wish  you  joy."  Then,  with  sudden  and  touch- 
ing earnestness,  ' '  Never  did  good  fortune  light 
on  one  so  worthy  of  it." 

"Thank  you,  Griffith,"  replied  Kate,  softly. 
(She  had  called  him  "  Mr.  Gaunt"  in  public  till 
now.)  "But  money  and  lands  do  not  always 
bring  content.  I  think  I  was  happier  a  minute 
ago  than  I  feel  now,"  said  she,  quietly. 

The  blood  rushed  into  Griffith's  face  at  this, 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


37 


for  a  minute  ago  might  mean  when  he  and  she 
were  talking  almost  like  lovers  about  to  wed. 
He  was  so  overcome  by  this,  he  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  retreated  hastily  to  hide  his  emotion, 
and  regain,  if  possible,  composure  to  play  his 
part  of  host  in  the  house  that  was  his  no  longer. 

Kate  herself  soon  after  retired,  nominally  to 
make  her  toilet  before  dinner,  but  really  to  es- 
cape the  public  and  think  it  all  over. 

The  news  of  her  advancement  had  spread  like 
wildfire ;  she  was  waylaid  at  the  very  door  by 
the  housekeeper,  who  insisted  on  showing  her 
her  house.  "Nay,  never  mind  the  house,"  said 
Kate;  ''just  show  me  one  room  where  I  can 
wash  my  face  and  do  my  hair." 

Mrs.  Hill  conducted  her  to  the  best  bedroom  ; 
it  was  lined  with  tapestry,  and  all  the  colors 
flown  ;  the  curtains  were  a  deadish  yellow. 

"Lud!  here's  a  colored  room  to  show  me 
into,"  said  the  blonde  Kate ;  "and  a  black  grate, 
too.  Why  not  take  me  out  o'  doors  and  bid  me 
wash  in  the  snow  ?" 

"Alack!  mistress,"  said  the  woman,  feeling 
very  uneasy,  ' '  we  had  no  orders  from  Mr.  Gaunt 
to  light  fires  up  stairs." 

"Oh,  if  you  wait  for  gentlemen's  orders  to 
make  jour  house  fit  to  live  in  !  You  knew  there 
were  a  dozen  ladies  coming,  yet  you  Avere  not 
woman  enough  to  light  them  fires.  Come,  take 
me  to  your  own  bedroom." 

The  woman  turned  red.  "  Mine  is  but  a  small 
room,  my  lady, "  she  stammered. 

"  But  there's  a  fire  in  it,"  said  Kate,  spiteful- 
ly. "You  sen-ants  don't  wait  for  gentlemen's 
orders  to  take  care  of  yourselves. " 

Mrs.  Hill  said  to  herself,  "  I'm  to  leave,  that's 
flat. "  However,  she  led  the  way  down  a  passage, 
and  opened  the  door  of  a  pleasant  little  room  in 
a  square  turret ;  a  large  bay  window  occupied 
one  whole  side  of  the  room,  and  made  it  inex- 
pressibly bright  and  cheerful,  though  rather  hot 
and  stuffy ;  a  clear  coal  fire  burned  in  the  grate. 

"Ah!"  said  Kate,  "how  nice!  Please  open 
those  little  windows,  every  one.  I  suppose  you 
have  sworn  never  to  let  wholesome  air  into  a 
room.  Thank  you :  now  go  and  forget  every 
cross  word  I  have  said  to  you — I  am  out  of  sorts, 
and  nervous,  and  irritable.  There,  run  away, 
my  good  soul,  and  light  fires  in  every  room ;  and 
don't  you  let  a  creature  come  near  me,  or  you 
and  I  shall  quarrel  downright. " 

Mrs.  Hill  beat  a  hasty  retreat.  Kate  locked 
the  door  and  threw  herself  backward  on  the  bed 
with  such  a  weary  recklessness  and  abandon  as 
if  she  was  throwing  herself  into  the  sea  to  end 
all  her  trouble,  and  burst  out  crying. 

It  was  one  thing  to  refuse  to  marry  her  old 
sweetheart,  it  Avas  another  to  take  his  property 
and  reduce  him  to  poverty.  But  here  she  Avas 
doing  both,  and  £oing  to  be  persuaded  to  marry 
Neville,  and  sAveil  his  Avealth  with  the  very  pos- 
sessions she  had  taken  from  Griffith ;  and  him 
Avounded  into  the  bargain  for  love  of  her.  It 
Avas  really  too  cruel.  It  Avas  an  accumulation 
of  different  cruelties.  Her  bosom  revolted  ;  she 
was  agitated,  perplexed,  irritated,  unhappy,  and 
all  in  a  tumult ;  and  although  she  had  but  one 
fit  of  crying — to  the  naked  eye — yet  a  person  of 
her  own  sex  would  have  seen  that  at  one  mo- 
ment she  Avas  crying  from  agitated  neiwes,  at 
another  from  worry,  and  at  the  next  from  pity, 
and  then  from  grief. 


In  short,  she  had  a  good  long,  hearty,  multi- 
form ciy,  and  it  relieved  her  swelling  heart  so 
far  that  she  felt  able  to  go  doAvn  iioav,  and  hide 
her  feelings,  one  and  all,  from  friend  and  foe,  to 
do  which  was  unfortunately  a  part  of  her  nature. 

She  rose  and  plunged  her  face  into  cold  water 
and  then  smoothed  her  hair. 

Noav,  as  she  stood  at  the  glass,  tAvo  familiar 
Alices  came  in  through  the  open  AvindoAv,  and  ar- 
rested her  attention  directly.  It  Avas  her  father 
conversing  Avith  Griffith  Gaunt.  Kate  pricked 
up  her  quick  ears  and  listened,  with  her  back 
hair  in  her  hand.  She  caught  the  subject  of 
their  talk,  only  now  and  then  she  missed  a  Avord 
or  two. 

Mr.  Peyton  Avas  speaking  rather  kindly  to 
Griffith,  and  telling  him  he  Avas  as  sorry  for  his 
disappointment  as  any  father  could  be  whose 
daughter  had  just  come  into  a  fortune.  But 
then  he  Avent  on  and  rather  spoiled  this  by  ask- 
ing Griffith  bluntly  Avhat  on  earth  had  ever  made 
him  think  Mr.  Charlton  intended  to  leave  him 
Bolton  and  HernshaAv. 

Griffith  replied,  Avith  manifest  agitation,  that 
Mr.  Charlton  had  repeatedly  told  him  he  was 
to  be  his  heir.  "Not,"  said  Griffith,  "that  he 
meant  to  Avrong  Mistress  Kate  neither :  poor  old 
man,  he  ahvays  thought  she  and  I  should  be 
one." 

"Ah !  Aveil, "  said  Squire  Peyton,  coolly, ' '  there 
is  an  end  of  all  that  noAv." 

At  this  obserA-ation  Kate  glided  to  the  Avin- 
doAv,  and  laid  her  cheek  on  the  sill  to  listen  more 
closely. 

But  Griffith  made  no  reply. 

Mr.  Peyton  seemed  dissatisfied  at  his  silence, 
and  being  a  person  who,  notwithstanding  a  cer- 
tain superficial  good-nature,  saAv  his  own  side  of 
a  question  very  big,  and  his  neighbor's  very  lit- 
tle, he  A\-as  harder  than  perhaps  he  intended  to  be. 

"Why,  Master  Gaunt,"  said  he,  "surely  you 
Avould  not  follow  my  daughter  noAv — to  feed  upon 
a  Avoman's  bread.  Come,  be  a  man  ;  and,  if  you 
are  the  girl's  friend,  don't  stand  in  her  light. 
You  knoAv  she  can  Aved  your  betters,  and  clap 
Bolton  Hall  on  to  Neville's  Court.  No  doubt  it 
is  a  disappointment  to  you;  but  Avhat  can't  be 
cured  must  be  endured  ;  pluck  up  a  bit  of  cour- 
age, and  turn  your  heart  another  way,  and  then 
I  shall  always  be  a  good  friend  to  you,  and  my 
doors  open  to  you,  come  Avhen  you  will."   ' 

Griffith  made  no  reply.  Kate  strained  her 
ears,  but  could  not  hear  a  syllable.  A  tremor 
ran  through  her.  She  was  in  distance  farther 
from  Griffith  than  her  father  was,  but  superior 
intelligence  provided  her  Avith  a  bridge  from  her 
AvindoAv  to  her  old  servant's  mind.  And  uoav  she 
felt  that  this  great  silence  Avas  the  silence  of  de- 
spair. 

But  the  squire  pressed  him  for  a  definite  an- 
SAver,  and  finally  insisted  on  one.  "Come,  don't 
be  so  sulky,"  said  he  ;  "I'm  her  father :  give  me 
an  ansAver,  ay  or  no." 

Then  Kate  heard  a  violent  sigh,  and  out  rush- 
ed a  torrent  of  words  that  each  seemed  tinged 
Avith  blood  from  the  unfortunate  speaker's  heart. 
"Old  man,"  he  almost  shrieked,  "what  did  I 
ever  do  to  you,  that  you  torment  me  so  ?  Pure 
you  Avere  born  Avithout  boAvels.  Beggared  but 
an  hour  agone,  and  noAv  you  must  come  and  tell 
me  I  have  lost  her  by  losing  house  and  lands ! 
D'ye  think  I  need  to  be  told  it  ?     She  Avas  too  far 


38 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


above  me  before,  and  now  she  is  gone  quite  out 
of  my  reach.  But  why  come  and  fling  it  in  my 
face?  Can't  you  give  a  poor  undone  man  one 
hour  to  draw  his  breath  in  trouble  ?  And  when 
you  know  I  have  got  to  play  the  host  this  bitter 
day,  and  smile,  and  smirk,  and  make  you  all  mer- 
ry, with  my  heart  breaking!  O  Christ,  look  down 
and  pity  me,  for  men  are  made  of  stone.  Well, 
then,  no  5  I  will  not,  I  can  not  say  the  word  to 
give  her  up.  She  will  discharge  ?ne,  and  then 
I'll  fly  the  country  and  never  trouble  you  more. 
And  to  think  that  one  little  hour  ago  she  was  so 
kind,  and  I  was  so  happy !  Ah !  sir,  if  you  were 
born  of  a  woman,  have  a  little  pity,  and  don't 
speak  to  me  of  her  at  all,  one  way  or  other. 
What  are  you  afraid  of?  I  am  a  gentleman  and 
a  man,  though  sore  my  trouble :  I  shall  not  run 
after  the  lady  of  Bolton  Hall.  Why,  sir,  I  have 
ordered  the  servants  to  set  her  chair  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  table,  where  I  shall  not  be  able  to  speak 
to  her,  or  even  see  her.  Indeed  I  dare  not  look 
at  her,  for  I  must  be  merry.  Merry !  My  arm 
it  worries  me,  my  head  it  aches,  my  heart  is  sick 
to  death.  Man!  man!  show  me  some  little  grace, 
and  do  not  torture  me  more  than  flesh  and  blood 
can  bear." 

"You  are  mad,  young  sir,"  said  the  squire, 
sternly,  "  and  want  locking  up  on  bread  and  wa- 
ter for  a  month." 

"I  am  almost  mad,"  said  Griffith,  humbly. 
"But  if  you  would  only  let  me  alone,  and  not 
tear  my  heart  out  of  my  body,  I  could  hide  my 
agony  from  the  whole  pack  of  ye,  and  go  through 
my  part  like  a  man.  I  wish  I  was  lying  where 
I  laid  my  only  friend  this  afternoon." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  speak  to  you,"  said  Pey- 
ton, angrily ;  "and,  by  the  same  token,  don't  you 
speak  to  my  daughter  any  more." 

"Well,  sir,  if  she  speaks  to  me,  I  shall  be  sure 
to  speak  to  her,  without  asking  your  leave  or  any 
man's.  But  I  will  not  force  myself  upon  the  lady 
of  Bolton  Hall ;  don't  you  think  it.  Only,  for 
God's  sake,  let  me  alone.  I  want  to  be  by  my- 
self." And  with  this  he  hurried  away,  unable  to 
bear  it  any  more. 

Peyton  gave  a  hostile  and  contemptuous  snort, 
and  also  turned  on  .his  heel,  and  went  off  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

The  effect  of  this  dialogue  on  the  listener  was 
not  to  melt,  but  exasperate  her.  Perhaps  she  had 
just  cried  away  her  stock  of  tenderness.  At  any 
rate,  she  rose  from  her  ambush  a  very  basilisk ; 
her  eyes,  usually  so  languid,  flashed  fire,  and  her 
forehead  was  red  with  indignation.  She  bit  her 
lip,  and  clenched  her  hands,  and  her  little  foot 
beat  the  ground  swiftly. 

She  was  still  in  this  state  when  a  timid  tap 
came  to  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Hill  asked  her  par- 
don, but  dinner  was  ready,  and  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  all  a  waiting  for  her  to  sit  down. 

This  reminded  Kate  she  was  the  mistress  of 
the  house.  She  answered  civilly  she  would  be 
down  immediately.  She  then  took  a  last  look  in 
the  glass,  and  her  own  face  startled  her. 

"No,"  she  thought,  "they  shall  none  of  them 
know  nor  guess  what  I  feel."  And  she  stood  be- 
fore the  glass  and  deliberately  extracted  all  emo- 
tion from  her  countenance,  and,  by  way  of  prep- 
aration, screwed  on  a  spiteful  smile. 

When  she  had  got  her  face  to  her  mind,  she 
went  down  stairs. 

The  gentlemen  awaited  her  with  impatience, 


the  ladies  with  curiosity,  to  see  how  she  would 
comport  herself  in  her  new  situation.  She  en- 
tered, made  a  formal  courtesy,  and  was  conduct- 
ed to  her  seat  by  Mr.  Gaunt.  He  placed  her  in 
the  middle  of  the  table.  "I  play  the  host  for 
this  one  day,"  said  he,  with  some  dignity,  and 
took  the  bottom  of  the  table  himself. 

Mr.  Hammersley  was  to  have  sat  on  Kate's 
left,  but  the  sly  Neville  persuaded  him  to  change, 
and  so  got  next  to  his  inamorata :  opposite  to 
her  sat  her  father,  Major  Rickards,  and  others 
unknown  to  fame. 

Neville  was  in  high  spirits.  He  had  the  good 
taste  to  try  and  hide  his  satisfaction  at  the  fatal 
blow  his  rival  had  received,  and  he  entirely  avoid- 
ed the  topic ;  but  Kate  saw  at  once,  by  his  de- 
mure complacency,  he  was  delighted  at  the  turn 
things  had  taken,  and  he  gained  nothing  by  it : 
he  found  her  a  changed  girl.  Cold  monosylla- 
bles were  all  he  could  extract  from  her.  He  re- 
turned to  the  charge  a  hundred  times  with  indom- 
itable gallantry,  but  it  was  no  use.  Cold,  haugh- 
ty, sullen ! 

Her  other  neighbor  fared  little  better ;  and,  in 
short,  the  lady  of  the  house  made  a  vile  impres- 
sion. She  was  an  iceberg — a  beautiful  kill-joy — 
a  wet  blanket  of  charming  texture. 

And  presently  Nature  began  to  co-operate  with 
her :  long  before  sunset  it  grew  prodigiously  dark, 
and  the  cause  was  soon  revealed  by  a  fall  of  snow 
in  flakes  as  large  as  a  biscuit.  A  shiver  ran 
through  the  people ;  and  old  Peyton  blurted  out, 
"  I  shall  not  go  home  to-night. "  Then  he  bawl- 
ed across  the  table  to  his  daughter:  "  You  are 
at  home.     We  will  stay  and  take  possession." 

"Oh  papa!"  said  Kate,  reddening  with  disgust. 

But,  if  dullness  reigned  around  the  lady  of  the 
house,  it  was  not  so  every  where.  Loud  bursts 
of  merriment  were  heard  at  the  bottom  of  the  ta- 
ble. Kate  glanced  that  way  in  some  surprise, 
and  found  it  was  Griffith  making  the  company 
merry — Griffith,  of  all  people. 

The  laughter  broke  out  at  short  intervals,  and 
by-and-by  became  uproarious  and  constant.  At 
last  she  looked  at  Neville  inquiringly. 

"  Our  worthy  host  is  setting  us  an  example  of 
conviviality,"  said  he.     "  He  is  getting  drunk." 

"Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Kate.  "Has  he  no 
friend  to  tell  him  not  to  make  a  fool  of  himself?" 

"You  take  a  great  interest  in  him,"  said  Ne- 
ville, bitterly. 

' '  Of  course  I  do.  Pray,  do  you  desert  your 
friends  when  ill  luck  falls  on  them  ?" 

"  Nay,  Mistress  Kate,  I  hope  not." 

"You  only  triumph  over  the  misfortunes  of 
your  enemies,  eh  ?"  said  the  stinging  beauty. 

"  Not  even  that.  And  as  for  Mr.  Gaunt,  I  am 
not  his  enemy." 

"  Oh  no,  of  course  not.  You  are  his  best 
friend.     Witness  his  arm  at  this  moment." 

"  I  am  his  rival,  but  not  his  enemy.  I'll  give 
you  a  proof."  Then  he  lowered  his  voice,  and 
said  in  her  ear,  "You  are  grieved  at  his  losing 
Bolton  ;  and,  as  your  are  very  generous  and  no- 
ble-minded, you  are  all  the  more  grieved  because 
his  loss  is  your  gain."  (Kate  blushed  at  this 
shrewd  hit.)  Neville  went  on :  "  You  don't  like 
him  well  enough  to  marry  him ;  and,  since  you 
can  not  make  him  happy,  it  hurts  your  good  heart 
to  make  him  poor." 

"It  is  you  for  reading  a  lady's  heart,"  said 
Kate,  ironically. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


33 


George  proceeded  steadily.  "I'll  show  you  an 
easy  way  out  of  this  dilemma." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Kate,  rather  insolently. 

"  Give  Mr.  Gaunt  Bolton  and  Hernshaw,  and 
give  me — your  hand." 

Kate  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  surprise ; 
she  saw  by  his  eye  it  was  no  jest.  For  all  that, 
she  affected  to  take  it  as  one.  u  That  would  be 
long  and  short  division,"  said  she ;  but  her  voice 
faltered  in  saying  it. 

"So  it  would,"  replied  George,  coolly;  "for 
Bolton  and  Hernshaw  both  are  not  worth  one  fin- 
ger of  that  hand  I  ask  of  you.  But  the  value  of 
things  lies  in  the  mind  that  weighs  'em.  Mr. 
Gaunt,  you  see,  values  Bolton  and  Hernshaw 
very  highly ;  why,  he  is  in  despair  at  losing 
them.  Look  at  him ;  he  is  getting  rid  of  his 
reason  before  your  very  eyes,  to  drown  his  disap- 
pointment." 

"  Oh !  that  is  it,  is  it  ?"  And,  strange  to  say, 
she  looked  rather  relieved. 

"That  is  it,  believe  me :  it  is  a  way  we  men 
have.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  /  don't  care  one 
straw  for  Bolton  and  Hernshaw.  It  is  you  I 
love — not  your  land  nor  your  house,  but  your 
sweet  self;  so  give  me  that,  and  let  the  lawyers 
make  over  this  famous  house  and  lands  to  Mr. 
Gaunt.  His  antagonist  I  have  been  in  the  field, 
and  his  rival  I  am  and  must  be,  but  not  his  ene- 
my, you  see,  and  not  his  ill-wisher. " 

Kate  was  softened  a  little.  ' '  This  is  all  mighty 
romantic,"  said  she,  "and  very  like  &preux  che- 
valier, as  you  are ;  but  you  know  very  well  he 
would  fling  land  and  house  in  your  face  if  you 
offered  them  him  on  these  terms." 

"Ay,  in  my  face  if  I  offered  them,  but  not  in 
.yours  if  you. " 

' '  I  am  sure  he  Avould,  all  the  same. " 

"Try  him." 

"What  is  the  use?" 

"Try  him." 

Kate  showed  showed  symptoms  of  uneasiness. 
"Well,  I  will,"  said  she,  stoutly.  "No,  that  I 
will  not.  You  begin  by  bribing  me,  and  then  you 
would  set  me  to  bribe  him. " 

"  It  is  the  only  way  to  make  two  honest  men 
happy." 

"  If  I  thought  that—" 

"  You  know  it.     Try  him." 

"And  suppose  he  says  nay?" 

"  Then  Ave  shall  be  no  worse  than  we  are." 

" And  suppose  he  says  ay?" 

"Then  he  will  wed  Bolton  Hall  and  Hern- 
shaw, and  the  pearl  of  England  will  Aved  me." 

"I  have  a  great  mind  to  take  you  at  your 
AA'ord,"  said  Kate ;  "but  no  ;  it  is  really  too  in- 
delicate." 

George  Neville  fixed  his  eyes  on  her.  "Are 
you  not  deceiving  yourself?"  said  he.  "  Do  you 
not  like  Mr.  Gaunt  better  than  you  think  ?  I 
begin  to  fear  you  dare  not  put  him  to  this  test : 
you  fear  his  love  Avould  not  stand  it  ?" 

Kate  colored  high,  and  tossed  her  head  proud- 
ly. "Hoav  shreAvd  you  gentlemen  are!"  she 
said.  ' '  Much  you  knoAv  of  a  lady's  heart.  Noav 
the  truth  is,  I  don't  knoAv  Avhat  might  not  hap- 
pen Avere  I  to  do  Avhat  you  bid  me.  Nay,  I'm 
wiser  than  you  Avould  have  me ;  and  I'll  pity  Mr. 
Gaunt  at  a  safe  distance,  if  you  please,  sir. " 

Neville  boAved  gravely.  He  felt  sure  this  was 
a  plausible  evasion,  and  that  she  really  Avas  afraid 
to  apply  his  test  to  his  rival's  love. 


So  now,  for  the  first  time,  he  became  silent  and 
reserved  by  her  side.  The  change  was  noticed  by 
Father  Francis,  and  he  fixed  a  grave,  remonstrat- 
ing glance  on  Kate.  She  received  it,  understood 
it,  affected  not  to  notice  it,  and  acted  upon  it. 

Drive  a  donkey  too  hard,  it  kicks. 

Drive  a  man  too  hard,  it  hits. 

Drive  a  Avoman  too  hard,  it  cajoles. 

Now  among  them  they  had  driven  Kate  Pey- 
ton too  hard  ;  so  she  secretly  formed  a  bold  reso- 
lution, and,  this  done,  her  Avhole  manner  changed 
for  the  better.  She  turned  to  Neville,  and  flat- 
tered and  fascinated  him.  The  most  feline  of 
her  sex  could  scarcely  equal  her  calinerie  on  this 
occasion.  But  she  did  not  confine  her  fascina- 
tion to  him.  She  broke  out,  pro  bono  publico, 
like  the  sun  in  April,  Avith  quips,  and  cranks, 
and  dimpled  smiles,  and  made  every  body  near 
her  quite  forget  her  late  hauteur  and  coldness, 
and  bask  in  this  sunny,  sAveet  hostess.  When 
the  charm  Avas  at  its  height,  the  siren  cast  a 
seeming  merry  glance  at  Griffith,  and  said  to  a 
lady  opposite,  ' '  Methinks  some  of  the  gentlemen 
will  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  us,"  and  so  carried  the 
ladies  off  to  the  draAving-room. 

There  her  first  act  Avas  to  dismiss  her  smiles 
Avithout  ceremony,  and  her  second  Avas  to  sit 
doAvn  and  Avrite  four  lines  to  the  gentleman  at 
the  head  of  the  dining-table. 

And  he  Avas  as  drunk  as  a  fiddler. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Griffith's  friends  laughed  heartily  with  him 
Avhile  he  Avas  getting  drunk ;  and  Avhen  he  had 
got  drunk,  they  laughed  still  louder,  only  at  him. 

They  "knocked  him  doAAn"  for  a  song;  and 
he  sang  a  rather  Anacreontic  one  very  melodi- 
ously, and  so  loud  that  certain  of  the  sen-ants, 
listening  outside,  deriAred  great  delectation  from 
it ;  and  Neville  applauded  ironically. 

Soon  after,  they  "knocked  him  doAA'n"  for  a 
story ;  and  as  it  requires  more  brains  to  tell  a 
story  than  to  sing  a  song,  the  poor  butt  made  an 
ass  of  himself.  He  maundered  and  Avandered, 
and  stopped,  and  Avent  on,  and  lost  one  thread 
and  took  up  another,  and  got  into  a  perfect  maze. 
And  Avhile  he  Avas  thus  entangled,  a  seiwant  came 
in  and  brought  him  a  note,  and  put  it  in  his 
hand.  The  unhappy  narrator  received  it  Avith  a 
sapient  nod,  but  Avas  too  polite,  or  else  too  stupid, 
to  open  it,  so  closed  his  fingers  on  it,  and  Avent 
maundering  on  till  his  story  trickled  into  the 
sand  of  the  desert,  and  somen oav  ceased ;  for  it 
could  not  be  said  to  end,  being  a  thing  aa  ithout 
head  or  tail. 

He  sat  doAvn  amid  derisive  cheers.  About  five 
minutes  aftenvard,  in  some  intermittent  flash  of 
reason,  he  found  he  had  got  hold  of  something. 
He  opened  his  hand,  and  lo,  a  note !  On  this 
he  chuckled  unreasonably,  and  distributed  sage, 
cunning  Avinks  around,  as  if  he,  by  special  inge- 
nuity, had  caught  a  nightingale,  or  the  like  ; 
then,  Avith  sudden  hauteur  and  gravity,  proceed- 
ed to  examine  his  prize. 

But  he  knew  the  handAvriting  at  once,  and  it 
gave  him  a  galvanic  shock  that  half  sobered  him 
for  the  moment. 

He  opened  the  note,  and  spelled  it  Avith  great 
difficulty.  It  Avas  beautifully  written,  in  long,  clear 
letters  ;  but  then  those  letters  kept  dancing  so  ! 


40 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT:  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"  I  much  desire  to  speak  to  you  before  'tis  too 
late,  but  can  think  of  no  way  save  one.  I  lie  in 
the  turreted  room ;  come  under  my  window  at 
nine  of  the  clock ;  and  prithee  come  sober,  if 
you  respect  yourself,  or  Kate.  " 

Griffith  put  the  note  in  his  pocket,  and  tried 
to  think ;  but  he  could  not  think  to  much  pur- 
pose. Then  this  made  him  suspect  he  was 
drunk.  Then  he  tried  to  be  sober,  but  he  found 
he  could  not.  He  sat  in  a  sort  of  stupid  agony, 
with  Love  and  Drink  battling  for  his  brain.  It 
was  piteous  to  see  the  poor  fool's  struggles  to  re- 
gain the  reason  he  had  so  madly  parted  with. 
He  could  not  do  it ;  and  when  he  found  that,  he 
took  up  a  finger-glass,  and  gravely  poured  the 
contents  upon  his  head. 

At  this  there  was  a  burst  of  laughter. 

This  irritated  Mr.  Gaunt ;  and,  with  that  rap- 
id change  of  sentiments  which  marks  the  sober 
savage  and  the  drunken  European,  he  offered  to 
fight  a  gentleman  that  he  had  been  hitherto  hold- 
ing up  to  the  company  as  his  best  friend.  But 
his  best  friend  (a  very  distant  acquaintance)  was 
by  this  time  as  tipsy  as  himself,  and  offered  a 
piteous  disclaimer,  mingled  with  tears  ;  and 
these  maudlin  drops  so  affected  Griffith  that  he 
flung  his  one  available  arm  round  his  best  friend's 
head,  and  wept  in  turn,  and  down  went  both 
their  lachrymose,  empty  noddles  on  the  table. 
Griffith's  remained  there ;  but  his  best  friend 
extricated  himself,  and,  shaking  his  skull,  said, 
dolefully,  "He  is  very  drunk."  This  notable 
discovery,  coming  from  such  a  quarter,  caused 
considerable  merriment. 

"  Let  him  alone,"  said  an  old  toper ;  and  Grif- 
fith remained  a  good  hour  with  his  head  on  the 
table.  Meantime  the  other  gentlemen  soon  put 
it  out  of  their  power  to  ridicule  him  on  the  score 
of  intoxication. 

Griffith,  keeping  quiet,  got  a  little  better,  and 
suddenly  started  up  with  a  notion  he  was  to  go 
to  Kate  this  very  moment.  He  muttered  an  ex- 
cuse, and  staggered  to  a  glass  door  that  led  to 
the  lawn.  He  opened  this  door,  and  rushed  out 
into  the  open  air.  He  thought  it  would  set  him 
all  right ;  but,  instead  of  that,  it  made  him  so 
much  worse  that  presently  his  legs  came  to  a 
misunderstanding,  and  he  measured  his  length 
on  the  ground,  and  could  not  get  up  again,  but 
kept  slipping  down. 

Upon  this  he  groaned  and  lay  quiet. 

Now  there  was  a  foot  of  snow  on  the  ground, 
and  it  melted  about  Griffith's  hot  temples  and 
flushed  face,  and  mightily  refreshed  and  revived 
him. 

He  sat  up  and  kissed  Kate's  letter,  and 
Love  began  to  get  the  upper  hand  of  Liquor  a 
little. 

Finally  he  got  up  and  half  strutted,  half  stag- 
gered to  the  turret,  and  stood  under  Kate's 
window. 

The  turret  was  covered  with  luxuriant  ivy, 
and  that  ivy  with  snow.  So  the  glass  of  the 
window  was  set  in  a  massive  frame  of  winter ; 
but  a  bright  fire  burned  inside  the  room,  and 
this  set  the  panes  all  aflame.  It  was  cheery  and 
glorious  to  see  the  window  glow  like  a  sheet  of 
transparent  fire  in  its  deep  frame  of  snow ;  but 
Griffith  could  not  appreciate  all  that.  He  stood 
there  a  sorrowful  man.  The  wine  he  had  taken 
to  drown  his  despair  had  lost  its  stimulating  ef- 


fect, and  had  given  him  a  heavy  head,  but  left 
him  his  sick  heart. 

He  stood  and  puzzled  his  drowsy  faculties 
why  Kate  had  sent  for  him.  Was  it  to  bid  him 
good-by  forever,  or  to  lessen  his  misery  by  tell- 
ing him  she  would  not  marry  another  ?  He  soon 
gave  up  cudgeling  his  enfeebled  brains.  Kate 
was  a  superior  being  to  him,  and  often  said 
things,  and  did  things,  that  surprised  him.  She 
had  sent  for  him,  and  that  was  enough.  He 
should  see  her  and  speak  to  her  once  more,  at 
all  events.  He  stood,  alternately  nodding  and 
looking  up  at  her  glowing  room,  and  longing  for 
its  owner  to  appear.  But  as  Bacchus  had  in- 
spired him  to  mistake  eight  o'clock  for  nine,  and 
as  she  was  not  a  votary  of  Bacchus,  she  did  not 
appear,  and  he  stood  there  till  he  began  to  shiver. 

The  shadow  of  a  female  passed  along  the  wall, 
and  Griffith  gave  a  great  start.  Then  he  heard 
the  fire  poked.  Soon  after  he  saw  the  shadow 
again,  but  it  had  a  large  servant's  cap  on  :  so  his 
heart  had  beaten  high  for  Mary  or  Susan.  He 
hung  his  head  disappointed,  and,  holding  on  by 
the  ivy,  fell  a  nodding  again. 

By  -  and  -  by  one  of  the  little  casements  was 
opened  softly.  He  looked  up,  and  there  was  the 
right  face  peering  out. 

Oh,  what  a  picture  she  was  in  the  moonlight 
and  the  firelight!  They  both  fought  for  that 
fair  head,  and  each  got  a  share  of  it :  the  full 
moon's  silvery  beams  shone  on  her  rose -like 
cheeks  and  lilified  them  a  shade,  and  lit  her 
great  gray  eyes  and  made  them  gleam  astound- 
ingly ;  but  the  ruby  firelight  rushed  at  her  from 
behind,  and  flowed  over  her  golden  hair,  and 
reddened  and  glorified  it  till  it  seemed  more 
than  mortal.  And  all  this  in  a  very  picture- 
frame  of  snow. 

Imagine,  then,  how  sweet  and  glorious  she 
glowed  on  him  who  loved  her,  and  who  looked  at 
her  perhaps  for  the  last  time. 

The  sight  did  wonders  to  clear  his  head ;  he 
stood  open-mouthed,  with  his  heart  beating. 
She  looked  him  all  over  a  moment.  "Ah!" 
said  she.  Then,  quietly,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  are 
come."  Then,  kindly  and  regretfully, "  How 
pale  you  look !  you  are  unhappy. " 

This  greeting,  so  gentle  and  kind,  overpower- 
ed Griffith.     His  heart  was  too  full  to  speak. 

Kate  waited  a  moment ;  and  then,  as  he  did 
not  reply  to  her,  she  began  to  plead  to  him. 
"I  hope  you  are  not  angry  with  me,"  she  said. 
"7  did  not  want  him  to  leave  me  your  estates. 
I  would  not  rob  you  of  them  for  the  world,  if  I 
had  my  way." 

"  Angry  with  you !"  said  Griffith.  "I'm  not 
such  a  villain.  Mr.  Charlton  did  the  right  thing, 
and — "     He  could  say  no  more. 

" I  do  not  think  so,"  said  Kate.  "But  don't 
you  fret :  all  shall  be  settled  to  your  satisfaction. 
I  can  not  quite  love  you,  bitt  I  have  a  sincere  af- 
fection for  you,  and  so  I  ought.  Cheer  up,  dear 
Griffith  ;  don't  you  be  down-hearted  about  what 
has  happened  to-day. " 

Griffith  smiled.  "I  don't  feel  unhappy,'* he 
said;  "I  did  feel  as  if  my  heart  was  broken. 
But  then  you  seemed  parted  from  me.  Now  we 
are  together,  I  feel  as  happy  as  ever.  Mistress, 
don't  you  ever  shut  that  window  and  leave  me  in 
the  dark  again.  Let  me  stand  and  look  at  your 
sweet  face  all  night,  and  I  shall  be  the  happiest 
man  in  Cumberland." 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


a 


1  'Ay, "  said  Kate,  blushing  at  his  ardor ;  "  hap- 
py for  a  single  night ;  but  when  I  go  aAvay  you 
will  be  in  the  dumps  again,  and  perhaps  get  tip- 
sy; as  if  that  could  mend  matters!  Nay,  I 
must  set  your  happiness  on  stronger  legs  than 
that.  Do  you  know  I  have  got  permission  to 
undo  this  cruel  will,  and  let  you  have  Bolton 
Hall  and  Hernshaw  again  ?" 

Griffith  looked  pleased,  but  rather  puzzled. 

Kate  went  on,  but  not  so  glibly  now.  "How- 
ever," said  she,  a  little  nervously,  "  there  is  one 
condition  to  it  that  will  cost  us  both  some  pain. 
If  you  consent  to  accept  these  two  estates  from 
me,  who  don't  value  them  one  straw,  why  then — " 

She  hesitated. 

"Well,  what?"  he  gasped. 

"Why  then,  my  poor  Griffith,  we  shall  be 
bound  in  honor — you  and  I — not  to  meet  for 
some  months,  perhaps  for  a  whole  year :  in  one 
word — do  not  hate  me — not  till  you  can  bear  to 
see  me — another — man's — wife." 

The  murder  being  out,  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  directly,  and  in  that  attitude  awaited  his 
reply. 

Griffith  stood  petrified  a  moment,  and  I  don't 
think  his  intellects  were  even  quite  clear  enough 
to  take  it  all  in  at  once.  But  at  last  he  did  com- 
prehend it,  and  when  he  did,  he  just  uttered  a 
loud  cry  of  agony,  and  then  turned  his  back  on 
her  without  a  word. 

Man  does  not  speak  by  words  alone.  A  mute 
glance  of  reproach  has  ere  now  pierced  the  heart 
a  tirade  would  have  left  untouched,  and  even  an 
inarticulate  cry  may  utter  volumes. 

Such  an  eloquent  cry  was  that  with  which 
Griffith  Gaunt  turned  his  back  upon  the  angeli- 
cal face  he  adored,  and  the  soft,  persuasive 
tongue.  There  was  agony,  there  was  shame, 
there  was  wrath,  all  in  that  one  ejaculation. 

It  frightened  Kate.  She  called  him  back. 
"Don't  leave  me  so,"  she  said.  "I  know  I 
have  affronted  you,  but  I  meant  all  for  the  best. 
Do  not  let  us  part  in  anger." 

At  this  Griffith  returned  in  violent  agitation. 
"  It  is  your  fault  for  making  me  speak,"  he  cried. 
"I  was  going  away  without  a  word,  as  a  man 
should  that  is  insulted  by  a  woman.  You  heart- 
less, girl !  What !  you  bid  me  sell  you  to  that 
man  for  two  dirty  farms !  Oh,  well  you  know 
Bolton  and  Hernshaw  were  but  the  steps  by 
which  I  hoped  to  climb  to  you ;  and  now  you 
tell  me  to  part  with  you,  and  take  those  miser- 
able acres  instead  of  my  darling.  Ah !  mistress, 
you  have  never  loved,  or  you  would  hate  yourself 
and  despise  yourself  for  what  you  have  done. 
Love !  if  you  had  known  what  that  word  means, 
you  couldn't  look  in  my  face  and  stab  me  to  the 
heart  like  this.  God  forgive  you !  And  sure  I 
hope  he  will,  for,  after  all,  it  is  not  your  fault  that 
you  were  born  without  a  heart.     Why,  Kate, 

YOU  ARE  CRYING." 


CHAPTER  XI. 


"  Crying  ! "  said  Kate.  ' '  I  could  cry  my  eyes 
out  to  think  what  I  have  done ;  but  it  is  not  my 
fault:  they  egged  me  on.  I  knew  you  would 
fling  those  two  miserable  things  in  my  face  if  I 
did,  and  I  said  so ;  but  they  would  be  wiser  than 
me,  and  insist  on  my  putting  you  to  the  proof. " 


"They?     Who  is  they?" 

"  No  matter.  Whoever  it  was,  they  wiil  gain 
nothing  by  it,  and  you  will  lose  nothing.  Ah ! 
Griffith,  I  am  so  ashamed  of  myself — and  so 
proud  of  you." 

"  They  ?"  repeated  Griffith,  suspiciously.  "Who 
is  this  they  ?" 

"  What  does  that  matter,  so  long  as  it  was  not 
Me  ?  Are  you  going  to  be  jealous  again  ?  Let 
us  talk  of  you  and  me,  and  never  mind  who  them 
is.  You  have  rejected  my  proposal  with  just 
scorn,  so  now  let  me  hear  yours,  for  we  must 
agree  on  something  this  very  night.  Tell  me, 
now,  what  can  I  say  or  do  to  make  you  happy  ?" 

Griffith  was  sore  puzzled.  "Alas!  sweet 
Kate,"  said  he,  "I  don't  know  what  you  can  do 
for  me  now,  except  stay  single  for  my  sake." 

"I  should  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Kate, 
warmly  ;  "but,  unfortunately,  they  won't  let  me 
do  that.  Father  Francis  will  be  at  me  to-mor- 
row, and  insist  on  my  marrying  Mr.  Neville." 

1  *  But  you  will  refuse. " 

"I  would,  if  I  could  but  find  a  good  ex- 
cuse." 

"  Excuse?  why,  say  you  don't  love  him." 

"  Oh,  they  won't  allow  that  for  a  reason." 

"Then  I  am  undone,"  sighed  Griffith. 

"  No,  no,  you  are  not ;  if  I  could  be  brought 
to  pretend  to  love  somebody  else.  And  really, 
if  1  don't  quite  love  you,  1  like  you  too  well  to 
let  you  be  unhappy.  Besides,  I  can  not  bear  to 
rob  you  of  these  unlucky  farms  :  I  think  there  is 
nothing  I  would  not  do  rather  than  that.  I  think 
— I  would  rather — do — something  very  silly  in- 
deed. But  I  suppose  you  don't  want  me  to  do 
that  now  ?  Why  don't  you  answer  me  ?  Why 
don't  you  say  something?  Are  you  drunk,  sir, 
as  they  pretend  ?  or  are  you  asleep  ?  Oh,  I  can't 
speak  any  plainer :  this  is  intolerable.  Mr. 
Gaunt,  I'm  going  to  shut  the  window." 

Griffith  got  alarmed,  and  it  sharpened  his  wits. 
"Kate,  Kate!"  he  cried,  "what  do  you  mean? 
Am  I  in  a  dream  ?  Would  you  marry  poor  me 
after  all  ?" 

"How  on  earth  can  I  tell  till  I  am  asked?" 
inquired  Kate,  with  an  air  of  childlike  innocence, 
and  inspecting  the  stars  attentively. 

"  Kate,  will  you  many  me?"  said  Griffith,  all 
in  a  flutter. 

"  Of  course  I  will — if  you  will  let  me,"  replied 
Kate,  coolly,  but  rather  tenderly,  too. 

Griffith  burst  into  raptures.  Kate  listened  to 
them  with  a  complacent  smile,  then  delivered 
herself  after  this  fashion:  "You  have  very  little 
to  thank  me  for,  dear  Griffith.  I  don't  exactly 
downright  love  you,  but  I  could  not  rob  you  of 
those  unlucky  farms,  and  you  refuse  to  take  them 
back  any  way  but  this  ;  so  what  can  I  do  ?  And 
then,  for  all  I  don't  love  you,  I  find  I  am  always 
unhappy  if  you  are  unhappy,  and  happy  when 
you  are  happy ;  so  it  comes  pretty  much  to  the 
same  thing.  I  declare  I  am  sick  of  giving  you 
pain,  and  a  little  sick  of  crying  in  consequence. 
There,  I  have  cried  more  in  the  last  fortnight 
than  in  all  my  life  before,  and  you  know  nothing 
spoils  one's  beauty  like  crying.  And  then  you 
are  so  good,  and  kind,  and  true,  and  brave ;  and 
every  body  is  so  unjust  and  so  unkind  to  you, 
papa  and  all.  You  were  quite  in  the  right  about 
the  duel,  clear.  He  is  an  impudent  puppy ;  and 
I  threw  dust  in  your  eyes,  and  made  you  own 
you  were  in  the  wrong,  and  it  was  a  great  shame 


42 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


of  me,  but  it  was  because  I  liked  you  best.  I 
could  take  liberties  with  you,  dear.  And  you  are 
wounded  for  me,  and  now  I  have  disinherited 
you.  Oh,  I  can't  bear  it,  and  I  won't.  My  heart 
yearns  for  you — bleeds  for  you.  I  would  rather 
die  than  you  shoidd  be  unhappy ;  I  would  rather 
follow  you  in  rags  round  the  world  than  marry  a 
prince  and  make  you  wretched.  Yes,  dear,  I  am 
yours.  Make  me  your  wife,  and  then  some  day 
I  dare  say  I  shall  love  you  as  I  ought." 

She  had  never  showed  her  heart  to  him  like 
this  before,  and  now  it  overpowered  him.  So, 
being  also  a  little  under  vinous  influence,  he 
stammered  out  something,  and  then  fairly  blub- 
bered for  joy.  Then  what  does  Kate  do  but  cry 
for  company. 

Presently,  to  her  surprise,  he  was  half  way  up 
the  turret,  coming  to  her. 

"Oh,  take  care!  take  care!"  she  cried.  "You'll 
break  your  neck. " 

"Nay,"  cried  he,  "I  must  come  at  you,  if  I 
die  for  it." 

The  turret  was  ornamented  from  top  to  bot- 
tom with  short  ledges  consisting  of  half  bricks. 
This  ledge,  shallow  as  it  was,  gave  a  slight  foot- 
hold, insufficient  in  itself;  but  he  grasped  the 
strong  branches  of  the  ivy  with  a  powerful  hand, 
and  so  between  the  two  contrived  to  get  up  and 
hang  himself  out  close  to  her. 

"  Sweet  mistress, "  said  he, ' '  put  out  your  hand 
to  me,  for  I  can't  take  it  against  your  will  this 
time.     I  have  got  but  one  arm." 

But  this  she  declined.  "No,  no,"  said  she; 
"you  do  nothing  but  torment  and  terrify  me — 
there. "  And  so  gave  it  him ;  and  he  mum- 
bled it. 

This  last  feat  won  her  quite.  She  thought  no 
other  man  could  have  got  to  her  there  with  two 
arms,  and  Griffith  had  done  it  with  one.  She 
said  to  herself,  "How  he  loves  me! — more  than 
his  own  neck."  And  then  she  thought,  "I  shall 
be  wife  to  a  strong  man ;  that  is  one  comfort." 

In  this  softened  mood,  she  asked  him  demure- 
ly would  he  take  a  friend's  advice. 

"  If  that  friend  is  you,  ay." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "I'll  do  a  downright  brazen 
thing,  now  my  hand  is  in.  I  declare  I'll  tell  you 
how  to  secure  me.  You  make  me  plight  "my 
troth  with  you  this  minute,  and  exchange  rings 
with  you,  whether  I  like  or  not ;  engage  my  honor 
in  this  foolish  business,  and  if  you  do  that,  I 
really  do  think  you  will  have  me  in  spite  of 
them  all.  But  there — la! — am  I  worth  all  this 
trouble  ?" 

Griffith  did  not  share  this  chilling  doubt.  He 
poured  forth  his  gratitude,  and  then  told  her  he 
had  got  his  mother's  ring  in  his  pocket.  "I  meant 
to  ask  you  to  wear  it,"  said  he. 

"  And  why  didn't  you?" 

"  Because  you  became  an  heiress  all  of  a  sud- 
den." 

"Well,  what  signifies  which  of  us  has  the 
dross,  so  that  there  is  enough  for  both  ?" 

"That  is  true,"  said  Griffith,  approving  his 
own  sentiment,  but  not  recognizing  his  own 
words.  "  Here's  my  mother's  ring  on  my  little 
finger,  sweet  mistress.  But  I  must  ask  you  to 
draw  it  off,  for  I  have  but  one  hand. " 

Kate  made  a  wiy  face.  "  Well,  that  is  my 
fault,"  said  she,  "or  I  would  not  take  it  from 
you  so." 

She  drew  off  his  ring,  and  put  it  on  her  finger. 


Then  she  gave  him  her  largest  ring,  and  had  to 
put  it  on  his  little  finger  for  him. 

"  You  are  making  a  very  forward  girl  of  me," 
said  she,  pouting  exquisitely. 

He  kissed  her  hand  while  she  was  doing  it. 

"  Don't  you  be  so  silly,"  said  she ;  "  and,  you 
horrid  creature,  how  you  smell  of  wine!  The 
bullet,  please." 

"The  bullet !"  exclaimed  Griffith.  "What 
bullet  ?" 

"7'Ae  bullet.  The  one  you  were  wounded 
with  for  my  sake.  I  am  told  you  put  it  in  your 
pocket ;  and  I  see  something  bulge  in  your  waist- 
coat.    That  bullet  belongs  to  me  now." 

"I  think  you  are  a  witch,"  said  he.  "I  do 
carry  it  about  next  my  heart.  Take  it  out  of  my 
waistcoat,  if  you  will  be  so  good." 

She  blushed  and  declined,  and,  with  the  re- 
fusal on  her  very  lips,  fished  it  out  with  her  ta- 
per fingers.  She  eyed  it  with  a  sort  of  tender 
horror.  The  sight  of  it  made  her  feel  faint  a 
moment.  She  told  him  so,  and  that  she  would 
keep  it  to  her  dying  day.  Presently  her  delicate 
finger  found  something  was  written  on  it.  She 
did  not  ask  him  what  it  was,  but  withdrew,  and 
examined  it  by  her  candle.  Griffith  had  en- 
graved it  with  these  words : 

"I  LOVE  KATE." 

He  looked  through  the  window,  and  saw  her 
examine  it  by  the  candle.  As  she  read  the  in- 
scription, her  face,  glorified  by  the  light,  assumed 
a  celestial  tenderness  he  had  never  seen  it  wear 
before. 

She  came  back  and  leaned  eloquently  out  as  if 
she  would  fly  to  him.  "Ah,  Griffith !  Griffith !" 
she  murmured,  and  somehow  or  other  their  lips 
met,  in  spite  of  all  the  difficulties,  and  grew  to- 
gether in  a  long  and  tender  embrace. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  given  him 
more  than  her  hand  to  kiss,  and  the  rapture  re- 
paid him  for  all. 

But  as  soon  as  she  had  made  this  great  ad- 
vance, virginal  instinct  suggested  a  proportion- 
ate retreat. 

"You  must  go  to  bed,"  she  said,  austerely; 
"you  will  catch  your  death  of  cold  out  here." 

He  remonstrated ;  she  insisted.  He  held  out ; 
she  smiled  sweetly  in  his  face,  and  shut  the  win- 
dow in  it  pretty  sharply,  and  disappeared.  He 
went  disconsolately  clown  his  ivy  ladder.  As 
soon  as  he  was  at  the  bottom,  she  opened  the 
window  again,  and  asked  him  demurely  if  he 
would  do  something  to  oblige  her. 

lie  replied  like  a  lover ;  he  was  ready  to  be 
cut  in  pieces,  drawn  asunder  with  wild  horses, 
and  so  on. 

"Oh,  I  know  you  would  do  any  thing  stupid 
for  me," said  she;  "but  will  you  do  something 
clever  for  a  poor  girl  that  is  in  a  fright  at  what 
she  is  going  to  do  for  you  ?" 

"Give  }rour  orders,  mistress,"  said  Griffith, 
"and  don't  talk  to  me  of  obliging  you.  I  feel 
quite  ashamed  to  hear  you  talk  so — to-night  es- 
pecially." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Kate,  "  first  and  foremost, 
I  want  you  to  throw  yourself  on  Father  Francis's 
neck." 

"I'll  throw  myself  on  Father  Francis's  neck," 
said  Griffith,  stoutly.     "  Is  that  all  ?" 

1 '  No,  nor  half.  Once  upon  his  neck,  you  must 
say  something.     Then  I  had  better  settle  the 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


43 


very  words,  or  perhaps  you  will  make  a  mess  of 
it.  Say  after  me  now :  Oh  Father  Francis,  'tis 
to  you  I  owe  her." 

"  Oh  Father  Francis,  'tis  to  you  I  owe  her." 

"  You  and  I  are  friends  for  life." 

"  You  and  I  are  friends  for  life." 

"And,  mind,  there  is  always  a  bed  in  our  home 
for  you,  and  a  plate  at  our  table,  and  a  right  wel- 
come, come  when  you  will." 

Griffith  repeated  this  line  correctly,  but,  when 
requested  to  say  the  whole,  broke  down.  Kate 
had  to  repeat  the  oration  a  dozen  times  ;  and  he 
said  it  after  her,  like  a  Sunday-school  scholar, 
till  he  had  it  pat. 

The  task  achieved,  he  inquired  of  her  what 
Father  Francis  was  to  say  in  reply. 

At  this  question  Kate  showed  considerable 
alarm. 

"Gracious  heavens!"  she  cried,  "you  must 
not  stop  talking  to  him ;  he  will  turn  you  inside 
out,  and  I  shall  be  undone.  Nay,  you  must  gab- 
ble these  words  out,  and  then  run  away  as  hard 
as  you  can  gallop." 

"But  is  it  true?"  asked  Griffith.  "Is  he  so 
much  my  friend?" 

"Hum!"  said  Kate,  "it  is  quite  true,  and  he 
is  not  at  all  your  friend.  There,  don't  you  puz- 
zle yourself,  and  pester  me ;  but  do  as  you  are 
bid,  or  we  are  both  undone." 

Quelled  by  a  menace  so  mysterious,  Griffith 
promised  blind  obedience  ;  and  Kate  thanked 
him,  and  bade  him  good-night,  and  ordered  him 
peremptorily  to  bed. 

He  went. 

She  beckoned  him  back. 

He  came. 

She  leaned  out,  and  inquired,  in  a  soft,  deli- 
cious whisper,  as  follows :  '  'Are  you  happy,  dear- 
est?" 

^Ay,  Kate,  the  happiest  of  the  happy." 

"Then  so  am  I,"  she  murmured. 

And  now  she  slowly  closed  the  window,  and 
gradually  retired  from  the  eyes  of  her  enraptured 
lover. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

But,  Avhile  Griffith  was  thus  sweetly  employ- 
ed, his  neglected  guests  were  dispersing,  not 
without  satirical  comments  on  their  truant  host. 
Two  or  three,  however,  remained,  and  slept  in 
the  house,  upon  special  invitation.  And  that  in- 
vitation came  from  Squire  Peyton.  He  chose  to 
conclude  that  Griffith,  disappointed  by  the  will, 
had  vacated  the  premises  in  disgust,  and  left  him 
in  charge  of  them  ;  accordingly,  he  assumed  the 
master  with  alacrity,  and  ordered  beds  for  Ne- 
ville, and  Father  Francis,  and  Major  Richards, 
and  another.  The  weather  was  inclement,  and 
the  roads  heavy ;  so  the  gentlemen  thus  distin- 
guished accepted  Mr.  Peyton's  offer  cordially. 

There  were  a  great  many  things  sung  and  said 
at  the  festive  board  in  the  course  of  the  evening, 
but  very  few  of  them  would  amuse  or  interest  the 
reader  as  they  did  the  hearers.  One  thing,  how- 
ever, must  not  be  passed  by,  as  it  had  its  conse- 
quences. Major  Richards  drank  bumpers  apiece 
to  the  King,  the  Prince,  Church  and  State,  the 
Army,  the  Navy,  and  Kate  Peyton.  By  the  time 
he  got  to  her,  two  thirds  of  his  discretion  had 
oozed  away  in  loyalty,  esprit  du  corps,  and  port 


wine ;  so  he  sang  the  young  lady's  praises  in  vin- 
ous terms,  and  of  course  immortalized  the  very 
exploit  she  most  desired  to  consign  to  oblivion : 
Anna  viraginemque  canebat.  He  sang  the  duel, 
and  in  a  style  which  I  could  not,  consistentlv 
with  the  interests  of  literature,  reproduce  on  a 
large  scale.  Hasten  we  to  the  concluding  versi- 
cles  of  his  song. 

"  So  then,  sir,  we  placed  our  men  for  the  third 
time,  and,  you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  one  or 
both  of  these  heroes  would  have  bit  the  dust  at 
that  discharge.  But,  by  Jove,  sir,  just  as  they 
were  going  to  pull  trigger,  in  galloped  your  ador- 
able daughter,  and  swooned  off  her  foaming  horse 
in  the  middle  of  us — disarmed  us,  sir,  in  a  mo- 
ment, melted  our  valor,  bewitched  our  senses, 
and  the  great  god  of  war  had  to  retreat  before 
little  Cupid  and  the  charms  of  beauty  in  dis- 
tress." 

"Little  idiot !"  observed  the  tender  parent; 
and  was  much  distempered. 

He  said  no  more  about  it  to  Major  Richards ; 
but  when  they  all  retired  for  the  night,  he  un- 
dertook to  show  Father  Francis  his  room,  and 
sat  in  it  with  him  a  good  half  hour  talking  about 
Kate. 

"  Here's  a  pretty  scandal,"  said  he.  "I  must 
marry  the  silly  girl  out  of  hand  before  this  gets 
wind,  and  you  must  help  me." 

In  a  word,  the  result  of  the  conference  was 
that  Kate  should  be  publicly  engaged  to  Neville 
to-morrow,  and  married  to  him  as  soon  as  her 
month's  mourning  should  be  over. 

The  conduct  of  the  affair  was  confided  to  Fa- 
ther Francis,  as  having  unbounded  influence  with 
her. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Next  morning  Mr.  Peyton  was  up  betimes  in 
his  character  of  host,  and  ordered  the  servants 
about,  and  Avas  in  high  spirits  ;  only  they  gave 
place  to  amazement  when  Griffith  Gaunt  came 
down,  and  played  the  host,  and  was  in  high 
spirits. 

Neville  too  watched  his  rival,  and  was  puzzled 
at  his  radiancy. 

So  breakfast  passed  in  general  mystification. 
Kate,  who  could  have  thrown  a  light,  did  not 
come  down  to  breakfast.  She  was  on  her  de- 
fense. 

She  made  her  first  appearance  out  of  doors. 

Very  early  in  the  morning,  Mr.  Peyton,  in  his 
quality  of  master,  had  ordered  the  gardener  to 
cut  and  sweep  the  snow  off  the  gravel  walk  that 
went  round  the  lawn  ;  and  on  this  path  Miss 
Peyton  was  seen  walking  briskly  to  and  fro  in 
the  frosty  but  sunny  air. 

Griffith  saw  her  first,  and  ran  out  to  bid  her 
good-morning. 

Her  reception  of  him  was  a  farce.  She  made 
him  a  staid  courtesy  for  the  benefit  of  the  three 
faces  glued  against  the  panes,  but  her  words  were 
incongruous.  "You  wretch,"  said  she,  "don't 
come  here.  Hide  about,  dearest,  till  you  see 
me  Avith  Father  Francis.  I'll  raise  my  hand  so 
when  you  are  to  cuddle  him,  and  fib.  There, 
make  me  a  Ioav  bow,  and  retire." 

He  obeyed,  and  the  Avhole  thing  looked  mighty 
formal  and  ceremonious  from  the  breakfast-room. 

"  With  your  good  leave,  gentlemen,"  said  Fa- 


u 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


ther  Francis,  dryly,  "I  will  be  the  next  to  pay 
my  respects  to  her."  With  this  he  opened  the 
window  and  stepped  out. 

Kate  saw  him,  and  felt  very  nervous.  She  met 
him  with  apparent  delight. 

He  bestowed  his  morning  benediction  on  her, 
and  then  they  walked  silently  side  by  side  on  the 
gravel;  and  from  the  dining-room  window  it 
looked  like  any  thing  but  what  it  was — a  fenc- 
ing match. 

Father  Francis  was  the  first  to  break  silence. 
He  congratulated  her  on  her  good  fortune,  and  on 
the  advantage  it  might  prove  to  the  true  Church. 

Kate  waited  quietly  till  he  had  quite  done,  and 
then  said,  "  What,  1  may  go  into  a  convent  now 
that  I  can  bribe  the  door  open  ?" 

The  scratch  was  feline,  feminine,  sudden,  and 
sharp.  But,  alas!  Father  Francis  only  smiled 
at  it.  Though  not  what  we  call  spiritually-mind- 
ed, he  was  a  man  of  a  Christian  temper.  "Not 
with  my  good-will,  my  daughter, "  said  he ;  "I  am 
of  the  same  mind  still,  and  more  than  ever.  You 
must  marry  forthwith,  and  rear  children  in  the 
true  faith." 

"  What  a  hurry  you  are  in." 

"  Your  own  conduct  has  made  it  necessary." 

"  Why,  Avhat  have  I  done  now  ?" 

"  No  harm.  It  was  a  good  and  humane  ac- 
tion to  prevent  bloodshed,  but  the  world  is  not 
always  worthy  of  good  actions.  People  are  be- 
ginning to  make  free  with  your  name  for  your 
interfering  in  the  duel." 

Kate  fired  up.  ' '  Why  can't  people  mind  their 
own  business?" 

"  1  do  not  exactly  know,"  said  the  priest,  cool- 
ly, "nor  is  it  worth  inquiring.  We  must  take 
human  nature  as  it  is,  and  do  for  the  best.  You 
must  marry  him,  and  stop  their  tongues." 

Kate  pretended  to  reflect.  "  I  believe  you  are 
right,"  said  she,  at  last;  "and,  indeed,  I  must 
do  as  you  would  have  me ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth, 
in  an  unguarded  moment,  I  pitied  him  so  that  I 
half  promised  I  would. " 

"  Indeed!"  said  Father  Francis.  "  This  is  the 
first  I  have  heard  of  it." 

Kate  replied  that  was  no  wonder,  for  it  was 
only  last  night  she  had  so  committed  herself. 

"Last  night!"  said  Father  Francis;  "how 
can  that  be  ?  He  was  never  out  of  my  sight  till 
we  went  to  bed." 

"Oh,  there  I  beg  to  differ,"  said  the  lady. 
"  While  you  were  all  tippling  in  the  dining-room, 
he  was  better  employed — making  love  by  moon- 
light. And  oh,  what  a  terrible  thing  opportunity 
is,  and  the  moon  another !  There !  what  with 
the  moonlight,  and  my  pitying  him  so,  and  all  he 
has  suffered  for  me,  and  my  being  rich  now.  and 
having  something  to  give  him,  we  two  are  en- 
gaged. See,  else :  this  was  his  mother's  ring, 
and  he  has  mine. " 

"Mr.  Neville?" 

"Mr.  Neville?  No.  My  old  servant,  to  be 
sure.  What !  do  you  think  I  would  go  and  mar- 
ry for  wealth,  when  I  have  enough  and  to  spare 
of  my  own  ?  Oh,  what  an  opinion  you  must 
have  of  me!" 

Father  Francis  was  staggered  by  this  adroit 
thrust.  However,  after  a  considerable  silence 
he  recovered  himself,  and  inquired  gravely  why 
she  had  given  him  no  hint  of  all  this  the  other 
night,  Avhen  he  had  diverted  her  from  a  convent, 
and  advised  her  to  marry  Neville. 


"That  you  never  did,  I'll  be  sworn,"  said 
Kate. 

Father  Francis  reflected. 

' '  Not  in  so  many  words,  perhaps,  but  I  said 
enough  to  show  you." 

"  Oh !"  said  Kate,  "  such  a  matter  was  too  se- 
rious for  hints  and  innuendoes ;  if  you  wanted  me 
to  jilt  my  old  servant  and  wed  an  acquaintance 
of  yesterday,  why  not  say  so  plainly  ?  I  dare 
say  I  should  have  obeyed  you,  and  been  unhappy 
for  life  ;  but  now  my  honor  is  solemnly  engaged ; 
my  faith  is  plighted ;  and  were  even  you  to  urge 
me  to  break  faith  and  behaA'e  dishonorably,  I 
should  resist.  I  woidd  liever  take  poison,  and 
die." 

Father  Francis  looked  at  her  steadily,  and  she 
colored  to  the  brow. 

"You  are  a  very  apt  young  lady,"  said  he; 
"you  have  outwitted  your  director.  That  may 
be  my  fault  as  much  as  yours ;  so  I  advise  you 
to  provide  yourself  with  another  director  whom 
you  will  be  unable  or  unwilling  to  outwit." 

Kate's  high  spirit  fell  before  this  :  she  turned 
her  eyes,  full  of  tears,  on  him.  ' '  Oh,  do  not  de- 
sert me,  now  that  I  shall  need  you  more  than 
ever,  to  guide  me  in  my  new  duties.  Forgive 
me ;  I  did  not  know  my  own  heart — quite.  I'll 
go  into  a  convent  now,  if  I  must,  but  I  can't  mar- 
ry any  man  but  poor  Griffith.  Ah !  father,  he  is 
more  generous  than  any  of  us.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it  ?  when  he  thought  Bolton  and  Hernshaw 
were  coming  to  him,  he  said  if  I  married  him  I 
should  have  the  money  to  build  a  convent  with. 
He  knows  how  fond  I  am  of  a  convent." 

"  He  was  jesting ;  his  religion  would  not  allow 
it." 

"  His  religion !"  cried  Kate.  Then,  lifting  her 
eyes  to  heaven,  and  looking  just  like  an  angel, 
"Love  is  his  religion!"  said  she,  warmly. 

"Then  his  religion  is  heathenism,"  said  tlte 
priest,  grimly. 

"  Nay,  there  is  too  much  charity  in  it  for  that," 
retorted  Kate,  keenly. 

Then  she  looked  down,  like  a  cunning,  guilty 
thing,  and  murmured,  "  One  of  the  things  I  es- 
teem him  for  is  he  always  speaks  well  of  you. 
To  be  sure,  just  now  the  poor  soul  thinks  you  are 
his  best  friend  with  me.  But  that  is  my  fault ; 
I  as  good  as  told  him  so ;  and  it  is  true,  after  a 
fashion,  for  you  kept  me  out  of  the  convent  that 
was  his  only  real  rival.  Why,  here  he  comes. 
Oh,  father,  now  don't  you  go  and  tell  him  you 
side  with  Mr.  Neville." 

At  this  crisis  Griffith,  who,  to  tell  the  truth, 
had  received  a  signal  from  Kate,  ruahed  at  Fa- 
ther Francis,  and  fell  upon  his  neck,  and  said 
with  great  rapidity,  "  Oh,  Father  Francis,  'tis  to 
you  I  owe  her — you  and  I  are  friends  for  life. 
So  long  as  we  have  a  house  there  is  a  bed  in  it 
for  you,  and  while  we  have  a  table  to  sit  down 
to  there's  a  plate  at  it  for  you,  and  a  welcome, 
come  when  you  will." 

Having  gabbled  these  words,  he  winked  at 
Kate,  and  fled  swiftly. 

Father  Francis  Avas  taken  aback  a  little  by  this 
sudden  burst  of  affection.  First  he  stared — then 
he  knitted  his  brows — then  he  pondered. 

Kate  stole  a  look  at  him,  and  her  eyes  sought 
the  ground. 

"  That  is  the  gentleman  you  arranged  matters 
with  last  night  ?"  said  he,  dryly. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Kate,  faintly. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


45 


"  Was  this  scene  part  of  the  business  ?" 

"Oh,  father!" 

"Why  I  ask,  he  did  it  so  unnatural.  Mr. 
Gaunt  is  a  worthy,  hospitable  gentleman ;  he 
and  I  are  very  good  friends ;  and  really  I  never 


like  a  puppet,  and  a  parrot  to  boot,  I  never  saw. 
'Twas  done  so  timely,  too.  He  ran  in  upon  our 
discourse.  Let  me  see  your  hand,  mistress. 
Why,  where  is  the  string  with  which  you  pulled 
yonder  machine  in  so  pat  upon  the  word  ?" 


doubted  that  I  should  be  welcome  in  his  house — 
until  this  moment." 

"And  can  you  doubt  it  now?" 

"Almost;  his  manner  just  now  was  so  hollow, 
so  forced ;  not  a  word  of  all  that  came  from  his 
heart,  you  know. " 

"Then  his  heart  is  changed  very  lately. 


The  priest  shook  his  head.     "  Any  thing  more  i  and  on  me." 


"  Spare  me !"  muttered  Kate,  faintly. 

"Then  do  you  drop  deceit  and  the  silly  cun- 
ning of  your  sex,  and  speak  to  me  from  your 
heart,  or  not  at  all."     (Diapason.) 

At  this  Kate  began  to  whimper.  "Father," 
she  said,  "show  me  some  mercy."  Then,  sud- 
denly clasping  her  hands,  "  Have  pity  on  him, 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


46 

This  time  Nature  herself  seemed  to  speak,  and 
the  eloquent  cry  went  clean  through  the  priest's 
heart.  "Ah!"  said  he  —  and  his  own  voice 
trembled  a  little — "now  you  are  as  strong  as 
your  cunning  was  weak.  Come,  I  see  how  it  is 
with  you;  and  I  am  human,  and  have  been 
young,  and  a  lover  into  the  bargain,  before  I 
was  a  priest.  There,  dry  thy  eyes,  child,  and  go 
to  thy  room ;  he  thou  couldst  not  trust  shall  bear 
the  brunt  for  thee  this  once." 

Then  Kate  bowed  her  fair  head  and  kissed  the 
horrid  paw  of  him  that  had  administered  so  se- 
vere but  salutary  a  pat.  She  hurried  away  up 
stairs,  right  joyful  at  the  unexpected  turn  things 
had  taken. 

Father  Francis,  thus  converted  to  her  side, 
lost  no  time;  he  walked  into  the  dining-room 
and  told  Neville  he  had  bad  news  for  him. 
"  Summon  all  your  courage,  my  young  friend," 
said  he,  with  feeling,  "and  remember  that  this 
world  is  full  of  disappointments." 

Neville  said  nothing,  but  rose  and  stood  rather 
pale,  waiting  like  a  man  for  the  blow.  Its  na.- 
ture  he  more  than  half  guessed,:  he  had  been  at 
the  window. 

It  fell. 

"She  is  engaged  to  Gaunt  since  last  night; 
and  she  loves  him." 

"  The  double-faced  jade  !"  cried  Peyton,  with 
an  oath. 

"The  heartless  coquette!"  groaned  Neville. 

Father  Francis  made  excuses  for  her :  "Nay, 
nay,  she  is  not  the  first  of  her  sex  that  did  not 
know  her  own  mind  all  at  once.  Besides,  we 
men  are  blind  in  matters  of  love ;  perhaps  a 
woman  would  have  read  her  from  the  first.  Aft- 
er all,  she  was  not  bound  to  give  us  the  eyes  to 
read  a  female  heart." 

He  next  reminded  Neville  that  Gaunt  had 
been  her  servant  for  years.  "  You  knew  that," 
said  he,  "yet  you  came  between  them — at  your 
peril.  Put  yourself  in  his  place :  say  you  had 
succeeded :  would  not  his  wrong  be  greater  than 
yours  is  now  ?  Come,  be  brave ;  be  generous ; 
he  is  wounded,  he  is  disinherited ;  only  his  love 
is  left  him :  'tis  the  poor  man's  lamb,  and  would 
you  take  it  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  not  a  word  to  say  against  the 
man, "  said  George,  with  a  mighty  effort. 

"And  what  use  quarreling  with  a  woman," 
suggested  the  practical  priest. 

"  None  whatever, "  said  George,  sullenly.  Aft- 
er a  moment's  silence  he  rang  the  bell  feverish- 
ly. "  Order  my  horse  round  directly,"  said  he. 
Then  he  sat  down,  and  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  did  not,  and  could  not,  listen  to  the 
voice  of  consolation. 

Now  the  house  was  full  of  spies  in  petticoats, 
amateur  spies,  that  ran  and  told  the  mistress  ev- 
ery thing  of  their  own  accord,  to  curry  favor. 

And  this,  no  doubt,  was  the  cause  that,  just  as 
the  groom  walked  the  piebald  out  of  the  stable 
toward  the  hall  door,  a  maid  came  to  Father 
Francis  with  a  little  note:  he  opened  it,  and 
found  these  words  written  faintly,  in  a  fine  Ital- 
ian hand : 

"I  scarce  knew  my  own  heart  till  I  saw  him 
wounded  and  poor,  and  myself  rich  at  his  ex- 
pense.    Entreat  Mr.  Neville  to  forgive  me. " 

He  handed  the  note  to  Neville  without  a  word. 


Neville  read  it,  and  his  lip  trembled  ;  but  he 
said  nothing,  and  presently  went  out  into  the 
hall  and  put  on  his  hat,  for  he  saw  his  nag  at  the 
door. 

F'ather  Francis  followed  him,  and  said,  sorrow- 
fully, ' '  What,  not  one  word  in  reply  to  so  hum- 
ble a  request  ?" 

"Well,  here's  my  reply,"  said  George,  grind- 
ing his  teeth.  "  She  knows  French,  though  she 
pretends  not. 

'  Le  bruit  est  pour  le  fat,  la  plainte  est  pour  le  sot, 
L'honntste  homrne  tronipe  s'eloigne  et  ue  (lit  mot.' " 

And  with  this  he  galloped  furiously  away. 

He  buried  himself  at  Neville's  Cross  for  sever- 
al days,  and  would  neither  see  nor  speak  to  a 
soul.  His  heart  was  sick,  his  pride  lacerated. 
He  even  shed  some  scalding  tears  in  secret; 
though,  to  look  at  him,  that  seemed  impossible. 

So  passed  a  bitter  week ;  and  in  the  course  of 
it  he  bethought  him  of  the  tears  he  made  a  true 
Italian  lady  shed,  and  never  pitied  her  a  grain 
till  now. 

He  was  going  abroad  :  on  his  desk  lay  a  little 
crumpled  paper.  It  was  Kate's  entreaty  for  for- 
giveness. He  had  ground  it  in  his  hand,  and 
ridden  away  with  it. 

Now  he  was  going  away,  he  resolved  to  an- 
swer her. 

He  wrote  a  letter  full  of  bitter  reproaches ; 
read  it  over,  and  tore  it  up. 

He  wrote  a  satirical  and  cutting  letter ;  read 
it,  and  tore  it  up. 

He  wrote  her  a  mawkish  letter ;  read  it,  and 
tore  it  up. 

The  priest's  words,  scorned  at  first,  had  sunk 
into  him  a  little. 

He  walked  about  the  room,  and  tried  to  see  it 
all  like  a  by-stander. 

He  examined  her  writing  closely :  the  pen  had 
scarcely  marked  the  paper.  They  Avere  the  tim- 
idest  strokes.  The  writer  seemed  to  kneel  to 
him.  He  summoned  all  his  manhood,  his  forti- 
tude, his  generosity,  and,  above  all,  his  high- 
breeding,  and  produced  the  following  letter,  and 
this  one  he  sent : 

"Mistress  Kate,— I  leave  England  to-day 
for  your  sake,  and  shall  never  return  unless  the 
day  shall  come  when  I  can  look  on  you  but  as  a 
friend.  The  love  that  ends  in  hate,  that  is  too 
sorry  a  thing  to  come  betwixt  you  and  me. 

"  If  you  have  used  me  ill,  your  punishment  is 
this  ;  you  have  given  me  the  right  to  say  to  you 
— I  forgive  you.  George  Neville." 

And  he  went  straight  to  Italy. 

Kate  laid  his  note  upon  her  knee,  and  sighed 
deeply,  and  said,  "  Poor  fellow !  How  noble  of 
him!  What  can  such  men. as  this  see  in  any 
woman  to  go  and  fall  in  love  with  her  ?" 

Griffith  found  her  with  a  tear  in  her  eye.  He 
took  her  out  walking,  and  laid  all  his  radiant 
plans  of  wedded  life  before  her.  She  came  back 
flushed,  and  beaming  Avith  complacency  and 
beauty. 

Old  Peyton  was  brought  to  consent  to  the 
marriage.  Only  he  attached  one  condition,  that 
Bolton  and  Hernshaw  should  be  settled  on  Kate 
for  her  separate  use. 

To  this  Griffith  assented  readily;  but  Kate 
refused  plump.  "What,  give  him  myself,  and 
then  grudge  him  my  estates/"  said  she,  with  a 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


47 


look  of  lofty  and  beautiful  scorn  at  her  male  ad- 
visers. 

But  Father  Francis,  having  regard  to  the  tem- 
poral interests  of  his  Church,  exerted  his  strength 
and  pertinacity,  and  tired  her  out ;  so  those  es- 
tates were  put  into  trustees'  hands,  and  tied  up 
tight  as  wax. 

This  done,  Griffith  Gaunt  and  Kate  Peyton 
were  married,  and  made  the  finest  pair  that  wed- 
ded in  the  county  that  year. 

As  the  bells  burst  into  a  merry  peal,  and  they 
walked  out  of  church  man  and  wife,  their  path 
across  the  church-yard  was  strewed  thick  with 
flowers,  emblematic,  no  doubt,  of  the  path  of  life 
that  lay  before  so  handsome  a  couple. 

They  spent  the  honeymoon  in  London,  and 
tasted  earthly  felicity. 

Yet  did  not  quarrel  after  it,  but  subsided  into 
the  quiet  complacency  of  wedded  life. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  lived  happily  together  — 
as  times  went. 

A  fine  girl  and  boy  were  bom  to  them  ;  and 
need  I  say  how  their  hearts  expanded  and  exult- 
ed, and  seemed  to  grow  twice  as  large  ? 

The  little  boy  was  taken  from  them  at  three 
years  old ;  and  how  can  I  convey  to  any  but  a 
parent  the  anguish  of  that  first  bereavement  ? 

Well,  they  suffered  it  together,  and  that  poig- 
nant grief  was  one  tie  more  between  them. 

For  many  years  they  did  not  furnish  any  ex- 
citing or  even  interesting  matter  to  this  narrator. 
And  all  the  better  for  them :  without  these  hap- 
py periods  of  dullness  our  lives  would  be  hell,  and 
our  hearts  eternally  bubbling  and  boiling  in  a 
huge  pot  made  hot  with  thorns. 

In  the  absence  of  striking  incidents,  it  may  be 
well  to  notice  the  progress  of  character,  and  note 
the  tiny  seeds  of  events  to  come. 

Neither  the  intellectual  nor  the  moral  charac- 
ter of  any  person  stands  stock-still :  a  man  im- 
proves, or  he  declines.  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  a  great 
taste  for  reading ;  Mr.  Gaunt  had  not :  what  was 
the  consequence  ?  At  the  end  of  seven  "years  the 
lady's  understanding  had  made  great  strides ; 
the  gentleman's  had  apparently  retrograded. 

Now  we  all  need  a  little  excitement,  and  we 
all  seek  it,  and  get  it  by  hook  or  by  crook.  The 
girl  who  satisfies  that  natural  craving  with  what 
the  canting  dunces  of  the  day  call  a  "  sensation- 
al" novel,  and  the  girl  who  does  it  by  waltzing 
till  daybreak,  are  sisters;  only  one  obtains  the 
result  intellectually,  and  the  other  obtains  it  like 
a  young  animal,  and  a  pain  in  her  empty  head 
next  day. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  could  enjoy  company,  but  was 
never  dull  with  a  good  book.  Mr.  Gaunt  was  a 
pleasant  companion,  but  dull  out  of  company. 
So,  rather  than  not  have  it,  he  would  go  to  the 
parlor  of  the  "Red  Lion,"  and  chat  and  sing 
with  the  }-eomen  and  rollicking  young  squires 
that  resorted  thither;  and  this  was  matter  of 
grief  and  astonishment  to  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

It  was  balanced  by  good  qualities  she  knew 
how  to  appreciate.  Morals  were  much  looser 
then  than  now,  and  more  than  one  wife  of  her 
acquaintance  had  a  rival  in  the  village,  or  even 
among  her  own  domestics ;  but  Griffith  had  no 
loose  inclinations  of  that  kind,  and  never  gave 


her  a  moment's  uneasiness.     He  was  constancy 
and  fidelity  in  person. 

Sobriety  had  not  yet  been  invented.  But  Grif- 
fith was  not  so  intemperate  as  most  squires ;  he 
could  always  mount  the  stairs  to  tea,  and  gener- 
ally without  staggering. 

He  was  uxorious,  and  it  used  to  come  out  aft- 
er his  wine.  This  Mrs.  Gaunt  permitted  at  first, 
but  by-and-by  says  she,  expanding  her  delicate 
nostrils,  "You  may  be  as  affectionate  as  you 
please,  dear,  and  you  may  smell  of  wine  if  you 
will,  but  please  not  to  smell  of  wine  and  be  affec- 
tionate at  the  same  moment.  I  value  your  af- 
fection too  highly  to  let  you  disgust  me  with  it. " 

And  the  model  husband  yielded  to  this  severe 
restriction  ;  and,  as  it  never  occurred  to  him  to 
give  up  his  wine,  he  forbore  to  be  affectionate  in 
his  cups. 

One  great /ear  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  entertained  be- 
fore marriage  ceased  to  haunt  her.  Now  and 
then  her  quick  eye  saw  Griffith  writhe  at  the 
great  influence  her  director  had  with  her ;  but  he 
never  spoke  out  to  offend  her,  and  she,  like  a 
good  wife,  saw,  smiled,  and  adroitly,  tenderly 
soothed  ;  and  this  was  nothing  compared  to  what 
she  had  feared. 

Griffith  saw  his  wife  admired  by  other  men, 
yet  never  chid  nor  chafed.  The  merit  of  this 
belonged  in  a  high  degree  to  herself.  The  fact 
is,  that  Kate  Peyton,  even  before  marriage,  was 
not  a  coquette  at  heart,  though  her  conduct 
might  easily  bear  that  construction ;  and  she  was 
now  an  experienced  matron,  and  knew  how  to  be 
as  charming  as  ever,  yet  check  or  parry  all  ap- 
proaches to  gallantry  on  the  part  of  her  admir- 
ers. Then  Griffith  observed  how  delicate  and 
prudent  his  lovely  wife  was,  without  ostentatious 
prudery,  and  his  heart  was  at  peace. 

He  Avas  the  happier  of  the  two,  for  he  looked 
up  to  his  wife  as  well  as  loved  her,  whereas  she 
was  troubled  at- times  with  a  sense  of  superiority 
to  her  husband.  She  was  amiable  enough,  and 
wise  enough,  to  try  and  shut  her  eyes  to  it,  and 
often  succeeded,  but  not  always. 

Upon  the  whole,  they  were  a  contented  couple, 
though  the  lady's  dreamy  eyes  seemed  still  to  be 
exploring  earth  and  sky  in  search  of  something 
they  had  not  yet  found,  even  in  wedded  life. 

They  lived  at  Hernshaw.  A  letter  had  been 
found  among  Mr.  Charlton's  papers  explaining 
his  will.  He  counted  on  their  marrying,  and 
begged  them  to  live  at  the  castle.  He  had  left 
it  on  his  wife's  death  ;  it  reminded  him  too  keen- 
ly of  happier  days ;  but,  as  he  drew  near  his  end, 
and  must  leave  all  earthly  things,  he  remembered 
the  old  house  with  tenderness,  and  put  out  his 
dying  hand  to  save  it  from  falling  into  decay. 

Unfortunately,  considerable  repairs  were  need- 
ed ;  and,  as  Kate's  property  was  tied  up  so  tight, 
Griffith's  two  thousand  pounds  went  in  repairing 
the  house,  lawn,  park  palings,  and  walled  gar- 
dens ;  went,  every  penny,  and  left  the  bridge 
over  the  lake  still  in  a  battered,  rotten,  and,  in  a 
word,  picturesque  condition. 

This  lake  was  by  the  older  inhabitants  some- 
times called  the  "mere,"  and  sometimes  "the 
fish-pools ; "  it  resembled  an  hour-glass  in  shape, 
only  curved  like  a  crescent. 

In  mediaeval  times  it  had  no  doubt  been  a 
main  defense  of  the  place.  It  was  very  deep  in 
parts,  especially  at  the  waist  or  narrow  that  was 
spanned  by  the  decayed  bridge.     There  were 


48 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


hundreds  of  carp  and  tench  in  it  older  than  any 
He  in  Cumberland,  and  also  enormous  pike  and 
eels ;  and  fish  from  one  to  five  pounds'  weight  by 
the  million.  The  water  literally  teemed  from 
end  to  end ;  and  this  was  a  great  comfort  to  so 
good  a  Catholic  as  Mrs.  Gaunt.  When  she  was 
seized  with  a  desire  to  fast,  and  that  was  pretty 
often,  the  gardener  just  went  down  to  the  lake 
and  flung  a  casting-net  in  some  favorite  hole,  and 
drew  out  half  a  bushel  the  first  cast ;  or  planted 
a  fine-net  round  a  patch  of  weeds,  then  belabored 
the  weeds  with  a  long  pole,  and  a  score  of  fine 
fish  were  sure  to  run  out  into  the  meshes. 

The  "mere"  was  clear  as  plate  glass,  and 
came  to  the  edge  of  the  shaven  lawn,  and  reflect- 
ed flowers,  turf,  and  overhanging  shrubs  deli- 
riously. 

Yet  an  ill  name  brooded  over  its  seductive 
waters,  for  two  persons  had  been  drowned  in  it 
during  the  last  hundred  years,  and  the  last  one 
was  the  parson  of  the  parish,  returning  from  the 
squire's  dinner  in  the  normal  condition  of  a 
guest,  A.D.  1740-50.  But  what  most  affected 
the  popular  mind  was,  not  the  jovial  soul  hurried 
into  eternity,  but  the  material  circumstance  that 
the  greedy  pike  had  cleared  the  flesh  off  his  bones 
in  a  single  night,  so  that  little  more  than  a  skel- 
eton, with  here  and  there  a  black  rag  hanging  to 
it,  had  been  recovered  next  morning. 

This  ghastly  detail  being  stoutly  maintained 
and  constantly  repeated  by  two  ancient  eye-wit- 
nesses, whose  one  melodramatic  incident  and 
treasure  it  was,  the  rustic  mind  saw  no  beauty 
whatever  in  those  pellucid  and  delicious  waters, 
where  flowers  did  glass  themselves. 

As  for  the  women  of  the  village,  they  looked 
on  this  sheet  of  water  as  a  trap  for  their  poor 
bodies  and  those  of  their  children,  and  spoke  of 
it  as  a  singular  hardship  in  their  lot  that  Hern- 
shaw  Mere  had  not  been  filled  up  threescore 
years  agone. 

The  castle  itself  was  no  castle,  nor  had  it  been 
for  centuries.  It  was  just  a  house  with  battle- 
ments ;  but  attached  to  the  stable  was  an  old 
square  tower,  that  really  had  formed  part  of  the 
mediaeval  castle. 

However,  that  unsubstantial  shadow,  a  name, 
is  often  more  durable  than  the  thing,  especially 
in  rural  parts ;  but,  indeed,  what  is  there  in  a 
name  for  Time's  teeth  to  catch  hold  of? 

Though  no  castle,  it  was  a  delightful  abode. 
The  drawing-room  and  dining-room  had  both 
spacious  bay  windows,  opening  on  to  the  lawn 
that  sloped  very  gradually  down  to  the  pellucid 
lake,  and  there  was  mirrored.  On  this  sweet 
lawn  the  inmates  and  guests  walked  for  sun  and 
mellow  air,  and  often  played  bowls  at  eventide. 

On  the  other  side  was  the  drive  up  to  the  house 
door,  and  a  sweep,  or  small  oval  plot  of  turf,  sur- 
rounded by  gravel ;  and  a  gate  at  the  corner  of 
this  sweep  opened  into  a  grove  of  the  grandest 
old  spruce-firs  in  the  island. 

This  grove,  dismal  in  winter  and  awful  at 
night,  was  deliriously  cool  and  sombre  in  the 
dog-days.  The  trees  were  spires;  and  their  great 
stems  stood  serried  like  infantry  in  column,  and 
flung  a  grand  canopy  of  sombre  plumes  overhead. 
A  strange,  antique,  and  classic  grove — nulli  pen- 
etrabilis  astro. 

This  retreat  was  inclosed  on  three  sides  by  a 
wall,  and  on  the  east  side  came  nearly  to  the 
house.     A  few  laurel  bushes  separated  the  two. 


At  night  it  was  shunned  religiously,  on  accouac 
of  the  ghosts.  Even  by  daylight  it  was  little  fre- 
quented, except  by  one  person — and  she  took  to  it 
amazingly.  That  person  was  Mrs.  Gaunt.  There 
seems  to  be,  even  in  educated  women,  a  singular, 
instinctive  love  of  twilight ;  and  here  was  twilight 
at  high  noon.  The  place,  too,  suited  her  dreamy, 
meditative  nature.  Hither,  then,  she  often  re- 
tired for  peace  and  religious  contemplation,  and 
moved  slowly  in  and  out  among  the  tall  stems, 
or  sat  still,  with  her  thoughtful  brow  leaned  on 
her  white  hand,  till  the  cool,  umbrageous  retreat 
got  to  be  called,  among  the  servants, "  The  Dame's 
Haunt." 

This,  I  think,  is  all  that  needs  be  told  about 
the  mere  place,  where  the  Gaunts  lived  comfort- 
ably many  years,  and  little  dreamed  of  the  strange 
events  in  store  for  them — little  knew  the  passions 
that  slumbered  in  their  own  bosoms,  and,  like  oth- 
er volcanoes,  bided  their  time. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

One  day,  at  dinner,  Father  Francis  let  them 
know  that  he  was  ordered  to  another  part  of  the 
county,  and  should  no  longer  be  able  to  enjoy 
their  hospitality.  "lam  sorry  for  it, "  said  Grif- 
fith, heartily ;  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  echoed  him  out  of 
politeness  ;  but,  when  husband  and  wife  came  to 
talk  it  over  in  private,  she  let  out  all  of  a  sudden, 
and  for  the  first  time,  that  the  spiritual  coldness 
of  her  governor  had  been  a  great  misfortune  to 
her  all  these  years.  "  His  mind,"  said  she,  "  is 
set  on  earthly  things.  Instead  of  helping  the  an- 
gels to  raise  my  thoughts  to  heaven  and  heavenly 
things,  he  drags  me  down  to  earth.  Oh,  that 
man's  soul  was  born  without  wings." 

Griffith  ventured  to  suggest  that  Francis  was, 
nevertheless,  an  honest  man,  and  no  mischief- 
maker. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  soon  disposed  of  this.  "  Oh,  there 
are  plenty  of  honest  men  in  the  world,"  said  she ; 
"but  in  one's  spiritual  director  one  needs  some- 
thing more  than  that,  and  I  have  pined  for  it  like 
a  thirsty  soul  in  the  desert  all  these  years.  Poor 
good  man,  I  love  him  dearly ;  but,  thank  heaven, 
he  is  going." 

The  next  time  Francis  came,  Mrs.  Gaunt  took 
an  opportunity  to  inquire,  but  in  the  most  delicate 
way,  who  was  to  be  his  successor. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "I  fear  you  will  have  no  one 
for  the  present — I  mean  no  one  very  fit  to  direct 
you  in  practical  matters  ;  but  in  all  that  tends  di- 
rectly to  the  welfare  of  the  soul,  you  will  have 
one  young  in  years,  but  old  in  good  works,  and 
very  much  my  superior  in  piety." 

"I  think  you  do  yourself  injustice,  father," 
said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  sweetly.  She  was  always  po- 
lite ;  and,  to  be  always  polite,  you  must  be  some- 
times insincere. 

"  No,  my  daughter,"  said  Father  Francis,  qui- 
etly, "  thank  God,  I  know  my  own  defects,  and 
they  teach  me  a  little  humility.  I  discharge  my 
religious  duties  punctually,  and  find  them  whole- 
some and  composing ;  but  I  lack  that  holy  unc- 
tion, that  spiritual  imagination,  by  which  more 
favored  Christians  have  fitted  themselves  to  con- 
verse with  angels.  I  have  too  much  body,  I  sup- 
pose, and  too  little  soul.  I  own  to  you  that  I 
can  not  look  forward  to  the  hour  of  death  as  a 
happy  release  from  the  burden  of  the  flesh.    Life 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


40 


is  pleasant  to  me ;  immortality  tempts  me  not ; 
the  pure  in  heart  delight  me ;  but  in  the  senti- 
mental part  of  religion  I  feel  myself  dry  and  bar- 
ren. I  fear  God,  and  desire  to  do  His  will ;  but 
I  can  not  love  Him  as  the  saints  have  done ;  my 
spirit  is  too  dull — too  gross.  I  have  often  been 
unable  to  keep  pace  with  you  in  your  pious  and 
lofty  aspirations,  and  this  softens  my  regret  at 
quitting  you,  for  you  will  be  in  better  hands,  my 
daughter." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  touched  by  her  old  friend's  hu- 
mility, and  gave  him  both  hands,  with  the  tears 
in  her  eyes.  But  she  said  nothing ;  the  subject 
was  delicate ;  and,  really,  she  could  not  honestly 
contradict  him. 

A  day  or  two  afterward  he  brought  his  success- 
or to  the  house — a  man  so  remarkable  that  Mrs. 
Gaunt  almost  started  at  first  sight  of  him.  Born 
of  an  Italian  mother,  his  skin  was  dark,  and  his 
eyes  coal-black ;  yet  his  ample  but  symmetrical 
forehead  was  singularly  white  and  delicate.  Very 
tall  and  spare,  and  both  face  and  figure  were  of" 
that  exalted  kind  which  make  ordinary  beauty 
seem  dross.  In  short,  he  was  one  of  those  ethe- 
real priests  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  produces 
every  now  and  then  by  way  of  incredible  contrast 
to  the  thickset  peasants  in  black  that  form  her 
staple.  This  Brother  Leonard  looked  and  moved 
like  a  being  who  had  come  down  from  some  high- 
er sphere  to  pay  the  world  a  very  little  visit,  and 
be  very  kind  and  patient  with  it  all  the  time. 

He  was  presented  to  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  bowed 
calmly,  coldly,  and  with  a  certain  mixture  of  hu- 
mility and  superiority,  and  gave  her  but  one 
tranquil  glance,  then  turned  his  eyes  inward  as 
before. 

Mrs.  Gaunt,  on  the  contrary,  was  almost  flut- 
tered at  being  presented  so  suddenly  to  one  who 
seemed  to  her  Religion  embodied.  She  blushed, 
and  looked  timidly  at  him,  and  was  anxious  not 
to  make  an  unfavorable  impression. 

She  found  it,  however,  very  difficult  to  make 
any  impression  at  all.  Leonard  had  no  small 
talk,  and  met  her  advances  in  that  line  with 
courteous  monosyllables  ;  and  when  she,  upon 
this,  turned  and  chatted  with  Father  Francis,  he 
did  not  wait  for  an  opening  to  strike  in,  but 
sought  a  shelter  from  her  commonplaces  in  his 
own  thoughts. 

Then  Mrs.  Gaunt  yielded  to  her  genuine  im- 
pulse, and  began  to  talk  about  the  prospects  of 
the  Church,  and  what  might  be  done  to  recon- 
vert the  British  Isles  to  the  true  faith.  Her 
cheek  flushed,  and  her  eye  shone  with  the  theme, 
and  Francis  smiled  paternally ;  but  the  young 
priest  drew  back :  Mrs.  Gaunt  saw  in  a  moment 
that  he  disapproved  of  a  woman  meddling  with 
so  high  a  matter  uninvited.  If  he  had  said  so 
she  had  spirit  enough  to  have  resisted ;  but  the 
cold,  lofty  look  of  polite  but  grave  disapproval 
dashed  her  courage  and  reduced  her  to  silence. 

She  soon  recovered  so  far  as  to  be  piqued.  She 
gave  her  whole  attention  to  Francis,  and,  on 
parting  with  her  guests,  she  courtesied  coldly  to 
Leonard,  and  said  to  Francis,  "Ah!  my  dear 
friend,  I  foresee  I  shall  miss  you  terribly. " 

I  am  afraid  this  pretty  speech  was  intended  as 
a  side  cut  at  Leonard. 

"But  on  the  impassive  ice  the  lightnings  play." 

Her  new  confessor  retired,  and  left  her  with  a 
sense  of  inferiority,  which  would  have  been  pleas- 


ing to  her  woman's  nature  if  Leonard  himself 
had  appeared  less  conscious  of  it,  and  had  shown 
ever  so  little  approval  of  herself ;  but,  impressed 
upon  her  too  sharply,  it  piqued  and  mortified  her. 
However,  like  a  gallant  champion,  she  awaited 
another  encounter.  She  so  rarely  failed  to  please, 
she  could  not  accept  defeat. 

Father  Francis  departed. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  soon  found  that  she  really  missed 
him.  She  had  got  into  a  habit'of  running  to  her 
confessor  twice  a  week,  and  to  her  director  near- 
ly every  day  that  he  did  not  come  of  his  own  ac- 
cord to  her. 

Her  good  sense  showed  her  at  once  she  must 
not  take  up  Brother  Leonard's  time  in  this  way. 
She  went  a  long  while,  for  her,  without  confes- 
sion :  at  last  she  sent  a  line  to  Leonard  asking 
him  when  it  would  be  convenient  to  him  to  con- 
fess her.  Leonard  wrote  back  to  say  that  he  re- 
ceived penitents  in  the  chapel  for  two  hours  after 
matins  every  Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Saturday. 

This  implied  first  come,  first  served,  and  was. 
rather  galling  to  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

However,  she  rode  one  morning,  with  her 
groom  behind  her,  and  had  to  wait  until  an  old 
woman  in  a  red  cloak  and  black  bonnet  was  first 
disposed  of.  She  confessed  a  heap.  And  pres- 
ently the  soft  but  chill  tones  of  Brother  Leonard: 
broke  in  with  these  freezing  words:  "My  daugh- 
ter, excuse  me ;  but  confession  is  one  thing,  gos- 
sip about  ourselves  is  another." 

This  distinction  was  fine,  but  fatal.  The  mext 
minute  the  fair  penitent  was  in  her  carriage,  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears  of  mortification. 

"The  man  is  a  spiritual  machine,"  said  she; 
and  her  pride  was  mortified  to  the  core. 

In  these  happy  days  she  used  to  open  her  heart 
to  her  husband,  and  she  went  so  far  as  to  say 
some  bitter  little  feminine  things  of  her  new  con- 
fessor before  him. 

He  took  no  notice  at  first ;  but  at  last  he  said 
one  day,  "Well,  I  am  of  your  mind ;  he  is  very 
poor  company,  compared  with  that  jovial  old 
blade,  Francis.  But  why  so  many  words,  Kate  ? 
You  don't  use  to  bite  twice  at  a  cherry :  if  the 
milksop  is  not  to  your  taste,  give  him  the  sack 
and  be  hanged  to  him."  And  with  this  homely 
advice  Squire  Gaunt  dismissed  the  matter,  and 
went  to  the  stable  to  give  his  mare  a  ball. 

So,  you  see,  Mrs.  Gaunt  was  discontented  with 
Francis  for  not  being  an  enthusiast,,  and  nettled 
with  Leonard  for  being  one. 

The  very  next  Sunday  morning  she  went  and 
heard  Leonard  preach.  His  first  sermon  was  an 
era  in  her  life.  After  twenty  years  of  pulpit 
prosers,  there  suddenly  rose  before  her  a  sacred 
orator — an  orator  born — blessed  with  that  di- 
vine and  thrilling  eloquence  that  no  heart  can 
really  resist.  He  prepared  his  great  theme  with 
art  at  first ;  but,  once  warm,  it  carried  him  away, 
and  his  hearers  went  with  him  like  so  many 
straws  on  the  flood.  And  in  the  exercise  of  this 
great  gift  the  whole  man  seemed  transfigured ; 
abroad,  he  was  a  languid,  rather  slouching  priest, 
who  crept  about,  a  pieture  of  delicate  humility, 
but  with  a  shade  of  meanness ;  for,  religious  prej- 
udice apart,  it  is-  ignoble  to  sweep  the  wall  in 
passing  as  he  did,  and  eye  the  ground;  but,  once 
in  the  pulpit,  his  figure  rose  and  swelled  majes- 
tically, and  seemed  to  fly  over  them  all  like  a 
guardian  angel's :  his  sallow  cheek  burned,  his 
great  Italian  eye  shot  black  lightning  at  the  im- 


50 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JE ALOUSY. 


penitent,  and  melted  ineffably  when  he  soothed 
the  sorrowful. 

Observe  that  great,  mean,  brown  bird  in  the 
Zoological  Gardens,  which  sits  so  tame  on  its 
perch,  and  droops  and  slouches  like  i  a  drowsy- 
duck.  That  is  the  great  and  soaring  eagle. 
Who  would  believe  it,  to  look  at  him  ?  Yet  all 
he  wants  is  to  be  put  in  his  right  place  instead 
of  his  wrong.  He  is  not  himself  in  man's  cages, 
belonging  to  God's  sky.  Even  so  Leonard  was 
abroad  in  the  world,  but  at  home  in  the  pulpit ; 
and  so  he  somewhat  crept  and  slouched  about  the 
parish,  but  soared  like  an  eagle  in  his  native  air. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  sat  thrilled,  enraptured,  melted. 
She  hung  upon  his  words ;  and  when  they  ceased, 
she  still  sat  motionless,  spelbbound— loth  to  be- 
lieve that  accents  so  divine  could  really  come  to 
an  end. 

Even  while  all  the  rest  were  dispersing  she  sat 
quite  still  and  closed  her  eyes.  For  her  soul  was 
too  high-strung  now  to  endure  the  chit-chat  she 
knew  would  attack  her  on  the  road  home — chit- 
chat that  had  been  welcome  enough  coming  home 
from  other  preachers. 

And  by  this  means  she  came  hot  and  undiluted 
to  her  husband  ;  she  laid  her  white  hand  on.bis 
shoulder,  and  said,  "Oh,  Griffith,  I  have  heard 
the  voice  of  God." 

Griffith  looked  alarmed,  and  rather  shocked 
than  elated. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  observed  that,  and  tacked  on, 
"  Speaking  by  the  lips  of  his  servant."  But  she 
fired  again  the  next  moment,  and  said,  "The 
grave  hath  given  us*  back  St.  Paul  in  the  Church's 
need,  and  I  have  heard  him  this  day." 

"  Good  heavens !  where?" 

"At  St. Mary's  Chapel." 

Then  Griffith  looked  very  incredulous.  Then 
she  gushed  out  with,.  "  What,  because  it  is  a 
small  chapel,  you  think  a  great  saint  can  not  be 
in  it?  Why,  our  Savior  was  born  in  a  stable,  if 
ycu  go  to  that." 

"  Well,  but,  my  dear,  consider,  "said  Griffith  ; 
"who  ever  heard  of  comparing  a  living  man  to 
St.  Paul  for  preaching  ?  Why,  he  was  an  apos- 
tle, for  one  thing,  and  there  are  no  apostles  now- 
adays. He  made  Felix  tremble  on  his  throne, 
and  almost  persuaded  Whatsename,  another  hea- 
then gentleman,  to  be  a  Christian." 

"That  is  true,"  said  the  lady,  thoughtfully; 
"  but  he  sent  one  man  that  ive  know  of  to  sleep. 
Catch  Brother  Leonard  sending  any  man  to 
sleep !  And  then  nobody  will  ever  say  of  him 
that  he  was  long  preaching." 

"Why,  I  do  say  it,"  replied  Griffith.  "By 
the  same  token,  I  have  been  waiting  dinner  for 
you  this  half  hour,  along  of  his  preaching." 

"Ah!  that's  because  you  did  not  hear  him," 
retorted  Mrs.  Gaunt :  "  if  you  had,  it  would  have 
seemed  too  short,  and  you  would  have  forgotten 
all  about  your  dinner  for  once." 

Griffith  made  no  reply.  He  even  looked  vex- 
ed at  her  enthusiastic  admiration.  She  saw,  and 
said  no  more.  But  after  dinner  she  retired  to 
the  grove,  and  thought  of  the  sermon  and  the 
preacher — thought  of  them  all  the  more  that  she 
was  discouraged  from  enlarging  on  them.  And 
it  would  have  been  kinder,  and  also  wiser,  of 
Griffith,  if  he  had  encouraged  her  to  let  out  her 
heart  to  him  on  this  subject,  although  it  did  not 
happen  to  interest  him.  A  husband  should  not 
chill  an  enthusiastic  wife,  and,  above  all.  should 


never  separate  himself  from  her  favorite  top'rc, 
when  she  loves  him  well  enough  to  try  and  share 
it  with  him. 

Mrs.  Gaunt,  however,  though  her  feelings  were 
quick,  was  not  cursed  with  a  sickly  or  irritable 
sensibility ;  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  was  she  one 
of  those  lovely  little  bores  who  can  not  keep  their 
tongues  off  their  favorite  theme.  She  quietly- 
let  the  subject  drop  for  a  whole  week ;  but  the 
next  Sunday  morning  she  asked  her  husband  if 
he  would  do  her  a  little  favor. 

"I'm  more  likely  to  say  ay  than  nay,"  was 
the  cheerful  reply,  i 

•„■  MIt  is  just  to  go  to  chapel  with  me,  and  then 
you  can  judge  for  yourself." 

Griffith  looked  rather  sheepish  at  this  propos- 
al, and  said  he  could  not  very  well  do  that. 

"  Why  ndfc,  dearest,  just  for  once  ?" 

"Well,  you  see,  parties  run  so  high  in  this 
parish,  and  every  thing  one  does  is  noted.  Why, 
if  I  was  to  go-to  chapel,  they'd  say  directly,  '  Look 
at  Griffith  Gaunt:  he  is  so  tied  to  his  wife's 
apron  he  is  going  to  give  up  the  faith  of  his  an- 
cestors. ' " 

"  The  faith  of  your  ancestors !  That  is  a  good 
jest.  The  faith  of  your  grandfather  at  the  out- 
side :  the  faith  of  your  ancestors  was  the  faith  of 
mine  and  me." 

"  Well,  don't  let  us  differ  about  a  word,"  said 
Griffith  ;  "  you  know  what  I  mean.  Did  ever  I 
ask  you  to  go  to  church  with  me  ?  and,  if  I  were 
to  ask  you,  would  you  go  ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  coloi-ed,  but  would  not  give  in. 
"  That  is  not  the  same  thing,"  said  she.  "I  do 
profess  religion  ;  you  do  not.  You  scarce  think 
of  God  on  week  days,  and,  indeed,  never  mention 
his  name  except  in  the  way  of  swearing;  and  on 
Sunday  you  go  to  church-^-for  what?  to  doze 
before  dinner — you  know  you  do.  Come,  now, 
with  you  'tis  no  question  of  religion,  but  just  of 
nap  or  no  nap ;  for  Brother  Leonard  won't  let 
you  sleep,  I  warn  you  fairly. " 

Griffith  shook  his  head.  "You  are  too  hard 
on  me,  wife.  I  know  I  am  not  so  good  as  you 
are,  and  never  shall  be  5  but  that  is  not  the  fault 
of 'the  Protestant  faith,  which  hath  reared  so 
many  holy  men  ;  and  some  of  'em  our  ancestors 
burnt  alive,  and  will  burn  in  hell  themselves  for 
the  deed.  But,  look  you,  sweetheart,  if  I'm  not 
a  saint  I'm  a  gentleman,  and,  say  I  wear  my 
faith  loose,  I  won't  drag  it  in  the  dirt  vnone  the 
more  for  that.     So  you  must  excuse  me. " 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  staggered;  and,  if  Griffith 
had  said  no  more,  I  think  she  would  have  Avith- 
drawn  her  request,  and  so  the  matter  ended. 
But  persons  unversed  in  argument  can  seldom 
let  well  alone,  and  this  simple  squire  must  needs 
go  on  to  say,  "  Besides,  Kate,  it  would  come  to 
the  parson's  ears,  and  he  is  a  friend  of  mine,  you 
know.  Why,  I  shall  be  sure  to  meet  him  to- 
morrow." 

"Ay,"  retorted  the  lady,  "by  the  cover-side. 
Well,  when  you  do,  tell  him  you  refused  your 
wife  your  company  for  fear  of  offending  the  re- 
ligions views  of  a  fox-hunting  parscm." 

"Nay,  Kate,"  said  Griffith,  "this  is  not  to 
ask  thy  man  to  go  with  thee :  'tis  to  say  go  he 
must,  willy  nilly."  With  that  he  rose  and  rang 
the  bell.  "  Order  the  chariot,"  said  he ;  "I  am 
to  go  with  our  dame. " 

Mrs.  Gaunt's  face  beamed  with  gratified  pride 
and  affection. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


5i 


The  chariot  came  round,  and  Griffith  handed 
his  dame  in.  He  then  gave  an  involuntary  sigh, 
and  followed  her  with  a  hang-dog  look. 

She  heard  the  sigh,  and  saw  the  look,  and  laid 
her  hand  quickly  on  his  shoulder,  and  said,  gen- 
tly but  coldly,  "Stay  you  at  home,  my  dear. 
We  shall  meet  at  dinner." 

"As  you  will, "said  he,  cheerfully;  and  they 
wTent  their  several  ways.  He  congratulated  him- 
self on  her  clemency  and  his  own  escape.  She 
went  along,  sorrowful  at  having  to  drink  so  great 
a  bliss  alone,  and  thought  it  unkind  and  stupid 
of  Griffith  not  to  yield  with  a  good  grace  if  he 
could  yield  at  all;  and,  indeed,  women  seem 
cleverer  than  men  in  this,  that,  when  they  re- 
sign their  wills,  they  do  it  graciously  and  not  by 
halves.  Perhaps  they  are  more  accustomed  to 
knock  under ;  and  you  know  practice  makes 
perfect. 

But  every  smaller  feeling  was  swept  away  by 
the  preacher,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  came  home  full  of 
pious  and  lofty  thoughts. 

She  found  her  husband  seated  at  the  dinner- 
table,  with  one  turnip  before  him,  and  even  that 
was  not  comestible,  for  it  was  his  grandfather's 
watch,  with  a  face  about  the  size  of  a  new-born 
child's.  "Forty-five  minutes  past  one,  Kate," 
said  he,  ruefully. 

"Well,  why  not  bid  them  serve  the  dinner?" 
said  she,  with  an  air  of  consummate  indiffer- 
ence. 

"What!  dine  alone  o'  Sunday?  Why,  you 
know  I  couldn't  eat  a  morsel  without  you,  set 
opposite. " 

Mrs.  Gaunt  smiled  affectionately.  "  Well, 
then,  my  dear,  we  had  better  order  dinner  an 
hour  later  next  Sunday." 

"But  that  will  upset  the  servants,  and  spoil 
their  Sunday." 

"And  am  I  to  be  their  slave?"  said  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  getting  a  little  warm.  "Dinner!  din- 
ner !  What !  shall  I  starve  my  soul  by  hurry- 
ing away  from  the  oracles  of  God  to  a  sirloin  ? 
Oh,  these  gross  appetites,  how  they  deaden  the 
immortal  half,  and  wall  out  heaven's  music! 
For  my  part,  I  wish  there  was  no  such  thing  as 
eating  and  drinking ;  'tis  like  falling  from  heaven 
down  into  the  mud,  to  come  back  from  such  di- 
vine discourse  and  be  greeted  with  'dinner!  din- 
ner! dinner!'" 

The  next  Sunday,  after  waiting  half  an  hour 
for  her,  Griffith  began  his  dinner  without  her. 

And  this  time,  on  her  arrival,  instead  of  re- 
monstrating with  her,  he  excused  himself. 
"Nothing,"  said  he,  "upsets  a  man's  temper 
like  waiting  for  his  dinner. " 

"Well,  but  you  have  not  waited." 

"Yes  I  did,  a  good  half  hour — till  I  could 
wait  no  longer. " 

"  Well,  dear,  if  I  were  you  I  would  not  have 
waited  at  all,  or  else  waited  till  your  wife  came 
home. " 

"Ah!  dame,  that  is  all  very  well  for  you  to 
say.  You  could  live  on  hearing  of  sermons  and 
smelling  to  rosebuds.  You  don't  know  what  'tis 
to  be  a  hungry  man." 

The  next  Sunday  he  sat  sadly  down,  and  fin- 
ished his  dinner  without  her;  and  she  came  home 
and  sat  down  to  half-empty  dishes,  and  ate  much 
less  than  she  used  when  she  had  him  to  keep  her 
company  in  it. 

Griffith,  looking  on  disconsolate,  told  her  she 


was  more  like  a  bird  pecking  than  a  Christian 
eating  of  a  Sunday. 

"  No  matter,  child,"  said  she,  "  so  long  as  my 
soul  is  filled  with  the  bread  of  Heaven." 

Leonard's  eloquence  suffered  no  diminution 
either  in  quantity  or  quality,  and,  after  a  while, 
Gaunt  gave  up  his  rule  of  never  dining  abroad 
on  the  Sunday.  If  his  wife  was  not  punctual, 
his  stomach  was,  and  he  had  not  the  same  tempt- 
ation to  dine  at  home  he  used  to  have. 

And,  indeed,  by  degrees,  instead  of  quietly  en- 
joying his  wife's  company  on  that  sweet  day,  he 
got  to  see  less  of  her  than  on  the  week  days. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Your  mechanical  preacher  flings  his  words 
out  happy-go-lucky,  but  the  pulpit  orator,  like 
every  other  orator,  feels  his  people's  pulse  as  he 
speaks,  and  vibrates  with  them,  and  they  with 
him. 

So  Leonard  soon  discovered  he  had  a  great 
listener  in  Mrs.  Gaunt :  she  was  always  there 
whenever  he  preached,  and  her  rapt  attention 
never  flagged.  Her  gray  eyes  never  left  his  face, 
and,  being  upturned,  the  full  orbs  came  out  in  all 
their  grandeur,  and  seemed  an  angel's  come 
down  from  heaven  to  hear  him ;  for,  indeed,  to  a 
very  dark  man,  as  Leonard  was,  the  gentle  radi- 
ance of  a  time  Saxon  beauty  seems  always  more 
or  less  angelic. 

By  degrees  this  face  became  a  help  to  the  ora- 
tor. In  preaching  he  looked  sometimes  to  it  for 
sympathy,  and,  lo !  it  was  sure  to  be  melting  with 
sympathy.  Was  he  led  on  to  higher  or  deeper 
thoughts  than  most  of  his  congregation  could  un- 
derstand, he  looked  to  this  face  to  understand 
him,  and,  lo !  it  had  quite  understood  him,  and 
was  beaming  with  intelligence. 

From  a  help  and  an  encouragement  it  became 
a  comfort  and  a  delight  to  him. 

On  leaving  the  pulpit  and  cooling,  he  remem- 
bered its  owner  was  no  angel,  but  a  woman  of 
the  world,  and  had  put  to  him  frivolous  ques- 
tions. 

The  illusion,  however,  was  so  beautiful  that 
Leonard,  being  an  imaginative  man,  was  unwil- 
ling to  dispel  it  by  coming  into  familiar  contact 
with  Mrs;  Gaunt.  So  he  used  to  make  his  as- 
sistant visit  her,  and  receive  her  when  she  came 
to  confess,  which  was  very  rarely ;  for  she  was 
discouraged  by  her  first  reception. 

Brother  Leonard  lived  in  a  sort  of  dwarf  mon- 
astery, consisting  of  two  cottages,  an  oratory,  and 
a  sepulchre.  The  two  latter  were  old,  but  the 
cottages  had  been  built  expressly  for  him  and 
another  seminary  priest  who  had  been  invited 
from:  France.  Inside,  these  cottages  were  little 
more  than  cells ;  only  the  bigger  had  a  kitchen, 
which  was  a  glorious  place  compared  with  the 
parlor ;  for  it  was  illuminated  with  bright  pewter 
plates,  copper  vessels,  brass  candlesticks,  and  a 
nice  clean  woman,  with  a  plain  gown  kilted  over 
a  quilted  silk  petticoat— Betty  Scarf,  an  old  serv- 
ant of  Mrs.  Gaunt's,  who  had  married,  and  was 
now  the  widow  Gough. 

She  stood  at  the  gate  one  day  as  Mrs.  Gaunt 
drove  by,  and  courtesied,  all  beaming. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  stopped  the  carriage,  and  made 
some  kind  and  patronizing  inquiries  about  her ; 
and  it  ended  in  Betty  asking  her  to  come  in  and 


52 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


see  her  place.  Mrs.  Gaunt  looked  a  little  shy  at 
that,  and  did  not  move.  "  Nay,  they  are  both 
abroad  till  supper-time, "  said  Betty,  reading  her 
in  a  moment  by  the  light  of  sex.  Then  Mrs. 
Gaunt  smiled  and  got  out  of  her  carriage.  Betty 
took  her  in  and  showed  her  every  thing  in  doors 
and  out.  Mrs.  Gaunt  looked  mighty  demure  and 
dignified,  but  scanned  every  thing  closely,  only 
without  seeming  too  curious. 

The  cold  gloom  of  the  parlor  struck  her.  She 
shuddered  and  said,  "This  wouhl  give  me  the 
vapors.  But,  doubtless,  angels  come  and  bright- 
en it  for  him." 

"Not  always,"  said  Betty.  "I  do  see  him 
with  his  head  in  his  hand  by  the  hour,  and  hear 
him  sigh  ever  so  loud  as  I  pass  the  door.  Why, 
one  day  he  was  fain  to  have  me  and  my  spinning- 
wheel  aside  him.  Says  he,  'Let  me  hear  thy 
busy  wheel,  and  see  thee  ply  it. '  '  And  welcome, ' 
says  I.  So  I  sat  in  his  room,  and  span,  and  he 
sat  a  gloating  of  me  as  if  he  had  never  seen  a 
woman  spin  hemp  afore  (he  is  a  very  simple 
man)  ;  and  presently  says  he — but  what  signifies 
what  he  said  ?" 

' '  Nay,  Betty,  if  you  please.  I  am  much  in- 
terested in  him.     He  preaches  so  divinely." 

"Ay,"  said  Betty,  "that's  his  gift.  But  a 
poor  trencher-man ;  and  I  declare  I'm  ashamed 
to  eat  all  the  vittels  that  are  eaten  here,  and  me 
but  a  woman." 

"But  what  did  he  say  to  you  that  time?" 
asked  Mrs.  Gaunt,  a  little  impatiently. 

Betty  cudgeled  her  memory.  "Well,  says  he, 
'  My  daughter'  (the  poor  soul  always  calls  me  his 
daughter,  and  me  old  enough  to  be  his  mother 
mostly),  says  he,  '  how  comes  it  that  you  are 
never  wearied  nor  cast  down,  and  yet  you  but 
serve  a  sinner  like  yourself;  but  I  do  often  droop 
in  my  Master's  service,  and  He  is  the  lord  of 
heaven  and  earth  ?'  Says  I, '  I'll  tell  ye,  sir — be- 
cause ye  don't  eat  enough  o'  vittels.'  " 

"  What  an  answer!" 

"Why,  'tis  the  truth,, dame.  And  says  I, '  If 
I  was  to  be  always  fasting,  like  as  you  be,  d'ye 
think  I  should  have  the  heart  to  work  from  morn 
till  night  ?'     Now,  wasn't  I  right  ?" 

"I  don't  know  till  I  hear  what  answer  he 
made,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  with  mean  caution. 

"Oh,  he  shook  his  head,  and  said  he  ate  mor- 
tal food  enow  (poor  simple  body !),  but  drank  too 
little  of  grace  divine.     That  was  his  Avord." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  a  good  deal  struck  and  af- 
fected by  this  revelation,  and  astonished  at  the 
slighting  tone  Betty  took  in  speaking  of  so  re- 
markable a  man.  The  saying  that  "  No  man  is 
a  hero  to  his  valet"  was  not  yet  current,  or  per- 
haps she  would  have  been  less  surprised  at  that. 

_"Alas!  poor  man,"  said  she,  "and  is  it  so? 
To  hear  him,  I  thought  his  soul  was  borne  up 
night  and  day  by  angels'  pinions — " 

The  widow  interrupted  her.  "Ay,  you  hear 
him  preach,  and  it  is  like  God's  trumpet  mostly, 
and  so  much  I  say  for  him  in  all  companies. 
But  I  see  him  directly  after ;  he  totters  into  this 
very  room,  and  sits  him  down  pale  and  panting, 
and  one  time  like  to  swoon,  and  another  all  for 
crying,  and  then  he  is  ever  so  dull  and  sad  for 
the  whole  afternoon." 

' '  And  nobody  knows  this  but  you  ?  You  have 
got  my  old  petticoat  still,  I  see.  I  must  look  you 
up  another." 

"  You  are  very  good,  dame,  I  am  sure.     'Twiil 


not  come  amiss  ;  I've  only  this  for  Sundays  and 
all.  No,  my  lady,  not  a  soul  but  me  and  you ; 
I'm  not  one  as  tells  tales  out  of  doors ;  but  I 
don't  mind  you,  dame ;  you  are  my  old  mistress, 
and  a  discreet  woman.  'Twill  go  no  farther  than 
your  ear." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  told  her  she  might  rely  on  that. 
The  widow  then  inquired  after  Mrs.  Gaunt's  lit- 
tle girl,  and  admired  her  dress,  and  described  her 
own  ailments,  and  poured  out  a  continuous  stream 
of  topics  bearing  no  affinity  to  each  other  except 
that  they  were  all  of  them  not  worth  mention- 
ing ;  and  all  the  while  she  thus  discoursed,  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  thoughtful  eyes  looked  straight  over  the 
chatterbox's  white  cap,  and  explored  vacancy ; 
and  by-and-by  she  broke  the  current  of  twaddle 
with  the  air  of  a  camelopard  marching  across  a 
running  gutter. 

"Betsy  Gough,"  said  she,  "I  am  thinking." 

Mrs.  Gough  was  struck  dumb  by  an  announce- 
ment so  singular. 

"  I  have  heard,  and  I  have  read,  that  great, 
and  pious,  and  learned  men  are  often  to  seek  in 
little  simple  things,  such  as  plain  bodies  have  at 
their  fingers'  ends.  So  now,  if  you  and  I  could 
only  teach  him  something  for  all  he  has  taught 
us.  And,  to  be  sure,  we  ought  to  be  kind  to  him 
if  we  can  ;  for  oh  !  Betty,  my  woman,  'tis  a  poor 
vanity  to  go  and  despise  the  great,  and  the  learn- 
ed, and  the  sainted,  because,  forsooth,  we  find 
them  out  in  some  one  little  weakness,  we  that 
are  all  made  up  of  weaknesses  and  defects.  So, 
now,  I  sit  me  down  in  this  very  chair — so.  And 
sit  you  there.  Now  let  us,  you  and  me,  look  at  his 
room  quietly  all  over,  and  see  what  is  wanting." 

1 '  First  and  foremost,  methinks  this  window 
should  be  filled  with  geraniums  and  jessamine, 
and  so  forth.  With  all  his  learning,  perhaps  he 
has  to  be  taught,  the  color  of  flowers  and  golden 
green  leaves,  with  the  sun  shining  through,  how 
it  soothes  the  eye  and  relieves  the  spirits !  yet 
every  woman  born  knows  that.  Then  do  but  see 
this  bare  table  !  a  purple  cloth  on  that,  I  say." 

"  Which  he  will  fling  it  out  of  the  window,  I 
say." 

"Nay,  for  I'll  embroider  a  cross  in  the  mid- 
dle with  gold  braid.  Then  a  rose-colored  blind 
would  not  be  amiss ;  and  there  must  be  a  good 
mirror  facing  the  window  ;  but,  indeed,  if  I  had 
my  way,  I'd  paint  these  horrid  walls  the  first 
thing." 

"  How  you  run  on,  dame !  Bless  your  heart, 
you'd  turn  his  den  into  a  palace :  he  won't  suffer 
that ;  he's  all  for  self-mortification,  poor  simple 
soul. " 

"Oh,  not  all  at  once,  I  did  not  mean,"  said 
Mrs.  Gaunt ;  "  but  by  little  and  little,  you  know. 
We  must  begin  with  the  flowers  :  God  made 
them ;  and  so,  to  be  sure,  he  will  not  spurn  them" 

Betty  began  to  enter  into  the  plot.  ' '  Ay,  ay, " 
said  she;  "the  flowers  first,  and  so  creep  on. 
But  naught  Avill  avail  to  make  a  man  of  him  so 
long  as  he  eats  but  of  eggs  and  garden-stuff,  like 
the  beasts  of  the  field,  '  that  to-day  are,  and  to- 
morrow are  cast  into  the  oven.'  " 

Mrs.  Gaunt  smiled  at  this  ambitious  attempt 
of  the  widow  to  apply  Scripture.  Then  she  said, 
rather  timidly,  "  Could  you  make  his  eggs  into 
omelets,  and  so  pound  in  a  little  meat  with  your 
small  herbs  ?  I  dare  say  he  would  be  none  the 
wiser,  and  he  so  bent  on  high  and  heavenly  things. " 

"  You  may  take  vour  oath  of  that." 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


;s 


"Well,  then.  And  I  shall  send  you  some 
stock  from  the  castle,  and  you  can  cook  his  veg- 
etables in  good  strong  gravy,  unbeknown." 

The  widow  Gough  chuckled  aloud. 

"  But  stay, "  said  Mrs.  Gaunt ;  "  for  us  to  play 
the  woman  so,  and  delude  a  saint  for  his  mere 
bodily  weal — will  it  not  be  a  sin,  and  a  sacrilege 
to  boot  ?" 

"Let  that  flea  stick  in  the  wall,"  said  Betty, 
contemptuously.  "Find  you  the  meat,  and  I'll 
find  the  deceit ;  for  he  is  as  poor  as  a  rat  into 
the  bargain.  Nay,  nay,  God  Almighty  will  never 
have  the  heart  to  burn  us  two  for  such  a  trifle. 
Why,  'tis  no  more  than  cheating  a  fro  ward  child 
taking  's  physic." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  got  into  her  carriage  and  went 
home,  thinking  all  the  way.  What  she  had  heard 
filled  her  with  feelings  strangely  but  sweetly  com- 
posed of  veneration  and  pity.  In  that  Leonard 
was  a  great  orator  and  a  high-minded  priest,  she 
revered  him  ;  in  that  he  was  solitary  and  sad,  she 
pitied  him  ;  in  that  he  wanted  common  sense, 
she  felt  like  a  mother,  and  must  take  him  under 
her  wing.  All  true  women  love  to  protect ;  per- 
haps it  is  a  part  of  the  great  maternal  element ; 
but  to  protect  a  man,  and  yet  look  up  to  him, 
this  is  delicious. 

Leonard,  in  truth,  was  one  of  those  high-strung 
men  who  pay  for  their  periods  of  religious  rap- 
ture by  hours  of  melancholy.  This  oscillation 
of  the  spirits  in  extraordinary  men  appears  to  be 
more  or  less  a  law  of  nature,  and  this  the  widow 
Gough  was  not  aware  of. 

The  very  next  Sunday,  while  he  was  preach- 
ing, she  and  Mrs.  Gaunt's  gardener  were  filling 
his  bow  window  with  flower-pots,  the  flowers  in 
full  bloom  and  leaf.  The  said  window  was  large, 
and  had  a  broad  sill  outside,  and,  inside,  one  of 
the  old-fashioned  high  window-seats  that  follow 
the  shape  of  the  window.  Mrs.  Gaunt,  who  did 
nothing  by  halves,  sent  up  a  cartload  of  flower- 
pots, and  Betty  and  the  gardener  arranged  at 
least  eighty  of  them,  small  and  great,  inside  and 
outside  the  window. 

When  Leonard  returned  from  preaching,  Bet- 
ty was  at  the  door  to  watch.  He  came  past  the 
window  with  his  hands  on  his  breast,  and  his 
eyes  on  the  ground,  and  never  saw  the  flowers  in 
his  own  window.  Betty  was  disgusted.  How- 
ever, she  followed  him  stealthily  as  he  went  to 
his  room,  and  she  heard  a  profound  "Ah !"  burst 
from  him. 

She  bustled  in  and  found  him  standing  in  a 
rapture,  with  the  blood  mantling  in  his  pale 
cheeks,  and  his  dark  eyes  glowing. 

"  Now  blessed  be  the  heart  that  hath  conceived 
this  thing,  and  the  hand  that  hath  done  it,"  said 
he.  "My  poor  room  is  a  bower  of  roses,  all 
beauty  and  fragrance."  And  he  sat  down,  in- 
haling them  and  looking  at  them ;  and  a  dreamy, 
tender  complacency  crept  over  his  heart;  and  soft- 
ened his  noble  features  exquisitely. 

Widow  Gough,  red  with  gratified  pride,  stood 
watching  him  and  admiring  him  ;  but,  indeed, 
she  often  admired  him,  though  she  had  got  into 
a  way  of  decrying  him. 

But  at  last  she  lost  patience  at  his  want  of  cu- 
riosity, that  being  a  defect  she  was  free  from  her- 
self. "Ye  don't  ask  me  who  sent  them,"  said 
she,  reproachfully. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  he,  ' '  prithee  do  not  tell  me  ; 
let  me  divinr.'' 


"  Divine,  then,"  said  Betty, roughly.  "Which 
I  suppose  you  means  'guess.'  " 

"Nay,  but  let  me  be  quiet  a  while,"  said  he, 
imploringly ;  "let  me  sit  down  and  fancy  that  I 
am  a  holy  man,  and  some  angel  hath  turned  my 
cave  into  a  Paradise." 

"No  more  an  angel  than  I  am,"  said  the  prac- 
tical widow.  "  But,  now  I  think  on't,  y'are  not 
to  know  who  'twas.  Them  as  sent  them  they 
bade  me  hold  my  tongue." 

This  was  not  true ;  but  Betty,  being  herself 
given  to  unwise  revelations  and  superfluous  se- 
crecy, chose  suddenly  to  assume  that  this  busi- 
ness was  to  be  clandestine. 

The  priest  turned  his  eye  inward  and  medita- 
ted. "  I  see  who  it  is,"  said  he,  with  an  air  of 
absolute  conviction.  "  It  must  be  the  lady  who 
comes  always  when  I  preach,  and  her  face  like 
none  other  ;  it  beams  with  divine  intelligence.  I 
will  make  her  all  the  return  we  poor  priests  can 
make  to  our  benefactors.  I  will  pray  for  her  soul 
here  among  the  flowers  God  has  made,  and  she 
has  given  his  servant  to  glorify  his  dwelling.  My 
daughter,  you  may  retire. " 

This  last  with  surprising,  gentle  dignity :  so 
Betty  went  off  rather  abashed,  and  avenged  her- 
self by  adulterating  the  holy  man's  innutritioug 
food  with  Mrs.  Gaunt's  good  gravy,  while  he  pray- 
ed fervently  for  her  eternal  weal  among  the  flow- 
ers she  had  given  him. 

Now  Mrs.  Gaunt,  after  eight  years  of  married 
life,  was  too  sensible  and  dignified  a  woman  to 
make  a  romantic  mystery  out  of  nothing.  She 
concealed  the  gravy,  because  there  secrecy  was 
necessary,  but  she  never  dreamed  of  hiding  that 
she  had  sent  her  spiritual  adviser  a  load  of  flow- 
ers. She  did  not  tell  her  neighbors,  for  she  was 
not  ostentatious,  but  she  told  her  husband,  who 
grunted,  but  did  not  object. 

But  Betty's  nonsense  lent  an  air  of  romance 
and  mystery  that  was  well  adapted  to  captivate 
the  imagination  of  a  young,  ardent,  and  solitary 
spirit  like  Leonard. 

He  would  have  called  on  the  lady  he  suspect- 
ed, and  thanked  her  for  her  kindness.  But  this 
he  feared  would  be  unwelcome,  since  she  chose 
to  be  his  unknown  benefactress.  It  would  be  ill 
laste  in  him  to  tell  her  he  had  found  her  out :  it 
might  offend  her  sensibility,  and  then  she  would 
draw  in. 

He  kept  his  gratitude,  therefore,  to  himself, 
and  did  not  cool  it  by  utterance.  He  often  sat 
among  the  flowers  in  a  sweet  reverie,  enjoying 
their  color  and  fragrance ;  and  sometimes  he 
would  shut  his  eyes,  and  call  up  the  angelical  face 
with  great  celestial  up-turned  orbs,  and  fancy  it 
among  her  own  flowers,  and  the  queen  of  them  all. 

These  day-dreams  did  not  at  that  time  inter- 
fere with  his  religious  duties.  They  only  took 
the  place  of  those  occasional  hours,  when,  partly 
by  the  reaction  consequent  on  great  religious  fer- 
vor, partly  through  exhaustion  of  the  body  weak- 
ened by  fasts,  partly  by  the  natural  delicacy  of 
his  fibre  and  the  tenderness  of  his  disposition,  his 
soul  used  to  be  sad. 

By-and-by  these  languid  hours,  sad  no  longer, 
became  sweet  and  dear  to  him.  He  had  some- 
thing so  interesting  to  think  of,  to  dream  about. 
He  had  a  Madonna  that  cared  for  him  in  secret. 

She  was  human,  but  good,  beautiful,  and  wise. 
She  came  to  his  sermons,  and  understood  every 
word. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"  And  she  knows  me  better  than  I  know  my- 
self," said  he :  "  since  I  had  these  flowers  from 
her  hand  I  am  another  man." 

One  day  he  came  into  his  room  and  found  two 
watering-pots  there.  One  was  large,  and  had  a 
rose  to  it ;  the  other  small,  and  with  a  plain 
spout. 

'  'Ah ! "  said  he ;  and  colored  with  delight.  He 
called  Betty,  and  asked  her  who  had  brought 
them. 

' '  How  should  I  know  ?"  said  she,  roughly.  * '  I 
dare  say  they  dropped  from  heaven,  fc-'ee,  there 
is  a  cross  painted  on  'em  in  gold  letters." 

"And  so  there  is !"  said  Leonard,  and  crossed 
himself. 

"That  means  nobody  is  to  use  them  but  you, 
I  trow,"  said  Betty,  rather  crossly. 

The  priest's  cheek  colored  high.  "  I  will  use 
them  this  instant,"  said  he.  "I  will  revive  my 
drooping  children,  as  they  have  revived  me." 
And  he  caught  up  a  watering-pot  with  ardor. 

"What,  with  the  sun  hot  upon  'em?"  scream- 
ed Betty.  ' '  Well,  saving  your  presence,  you  are 
a  simple  man." 

"Why,  good  Betty,  'tis  the  sun  that  makes 
them  faint, "  objected  the  priest,  timidly,  and  with 
the  utmost  humility  of  manner,  though  Betty's 
tone  would  have  irritated  a  smaller  mind. 

' '  Well,  well, "  said  she,  softening ;  ' '  but  ye  see 
it  never  rains  with  a  hot  sun,  and  the  flowers  they 
know  that,  and  look  to  be  watered  after  Nature, 
or  else  they  take  it  amiss.  You,  and  all  your 
sort,  sir,  you  think  to  be  stronger  than  Nature ; 
you  do  fast  and  pray  all  day,  and  won't  look  a 
woman  in  the  face  like  other  men ;  and  now  you 
wants  to  water  the  very  flowers  at  noon. " 

"Betty,"  said  Leonard,  smiling,  "I  yield  to 
thy  superior  wisdom,  and  I  will  water  them  at 
morn  and  eve.  In  truth  we  have  all  much  to 
learn :  let  us  try  and  teach  one  another  as  kindly 
as  Ave  can." 

"  I  wish  you'd  teach  me  to  be  as  humble  as 
you  be, "blurted  out  Betty,  with  something  very 
like  a  sob ;  "and  more  respectful  to  my  betters," 
added  she,  angrily. 

Watering  the  flowers  she  had  given  him  be- 
came a  solace  and  a  delight  to  the  solitary  priest : 
he  always  watered  them  with  his  own  hands,  and 
felt  quite  paternal  over  them. 

One  evening  Mrs.  Gaunt  rode  by  with  Griffith 
and  saw  him  watering  them.  His  tall  figure, 
graceful,  though  inclined  to  stoop,  bent  over  them 
Avith  feminine  delicacy,  and  the  simple  act,  which 
would  have  been  nothing  in  vulgar  hands,  seemed 
to  Mrs.  Gaunt  so  earnest,  tender,  and  delicate  in 
him,  that  her  eyes  filled,  and  she  murmured, 
"  Poor  Brother  Leonard." 

"Why,  what's  Avrong  Avith  him  now?"  asked 
Griffith,  a  little  peevishly. 

"That  Avas  him  Avatering  his  floAvers." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  said  Griffith,  carelessly. 

Leonard  said  to  himself,  "I go  too  little  abroad 
among  my  people."  He  made  a  little  round,  and 
it  ended  in  HernshaAv  Castle. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  Avas  out. 

He  looked  disappointed ;  so  the  sen'ant  sug- 
gested that  perhaps  she  was  in  the  Dame's 
Haunt :  he  pointed  to  the  grove. 

Leonard  followed  his  direction,  and  soon  found 
himself,  for  the  first  time,  in  that  sombre,  solemn 
retreat. 


It  was  a  hot  summer  day,  and  the  grove  was 
delicious.  It  was  also  a  place  Avell  suited  to  the 
imaginative  and  religious  mind  of  the  Italian. 

He  Avalked  slowly  to  and  fro,  in  religious  med- 
itation. Indeed,  he  had  nearly  thought  out  his 
next  sermon,  Avhen  his  meditative  eye  happened 
to  fall  on  a  terrestrial  object  that  startled  and 
thrilled  him.  Yet  it  was  only  a  lady's  glove.  It 
lay  at  the  foot  of  a  rude  Avooden  seat  beneath  a 
gigantic  pine. 

He  stooped  and  picked  it  up.  He  opened  the 
little  fingers,  and  called  up  in  fancy  the  Avhite 
and  tapering  hand  that  glove  could  fit.  He  laid 
the  glove  softly  on  his  own  palm,  and  eyed  it 
Avith  dreamy  tenderness.  ' '  So  this  is  the  hand 
that  hath  solaced  my  loneliness,"  said  he:  "a 
hand  fair  as  that  angelic  face,  and  sAveet  as  the 
kind  heart  that  doeth  good  by  stealth. " 

Then,  forgetting  for  a  moment,  as  lofty  spirits 
will,  the  difference  betAveen  meum  and  tuum,  he 
put  the  little  glove  in  his  bosom,  and  paced 
thoughtfully  home  through  the  Avoods,  that  Avere 
separated  from  the  grove  only  by  one  meadow ; 
and  so  he  missed  the  owner  of  the  glove,  for  she 
had  returned  home  while  he  was  meditating  in 
her  favorite  haunt. 

Leonard,  among  his  other  accomplishments, 
could  draw  and  paint  Avith  no  mean  skill.  In 
one  of  those  hours  that  used  to  be  of  melancholy, 
but  noAV  were  hours  of  dreamy  complacency,  he 
took  out  his  pencils  and  endeavored  to  sketch 
the  inspired  face  that  he  had  learned  to  preach 
to,  and  noAV  to  d\vell  on  with  gratitude. 

Clearly  as  he  saAV  it  before  him,  he  could  not 
reproduce  it  to  his  OAvn  satisfaction. 

After  many  failures,  he  got  very  near  the  mark; 
yet  still  something  Avas  Avanting. 

Then,  as  a  last  resource,  he  actually  took  his 
sketch  to  church  Avith  him,  and  in  preaching 
made  certain  pauses,  and,  Avith  a  very  few  touch- 
es, perfected  the  likeness ;  then,  on  his  return 
home,  threw  himself  on  his  knees  and  prayed  for- 
giveness of  God  with  many  sighs  and  tears,  and 
hid  the  sacrilegious  draAving  out  of  his  own  sight. 

Two  days  after  he  Avas  at  Avork  coloring  it, 
and  the  hours  fleAv  by  like  minutes  as  he  laid 
the  melloAV,  melting  tints  on  with  infinite  care 
and  delicacy.    Labor  ipse  voluptas. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  heard  Leonard  had  called  on  her 
in  person.  She  Avas  pleased  at  that,  and  it  en- 
couraged her  to  carry  out  her  Avhole  design. 

Accordingly,  one  afternoon,  Avhen  she  knew 
Leonard  Avould  be  at  vespers,  she  sent  on  a  load- 
ed pony-cart,  and  folloAved  it  on  horseback. 

Then  it  Avas  all  hurry-scurry  Avith  Betty  and 
her  to  get  their  dark  deeds  done  before  their 
victim's  return. 

These  good  creatures  set  the  mirror  opposite 
the  floAvery  AvindoAv,  and  so  made  the  room  a 
very  boAver.  They  fixed  a  magnificent  crucifix 
of  ivory  and  gold  over  the  mantel -piece,  and 
they  took  a\vay  his  hassock  of  rushes  and  substi- 
tuted a  prie-dieu  of  rich  crimson  velvet.  All 
that  remained  was  to  put  their  blue  cover,  Avith 
its  golden  cross,  on  the  table.  To  do  this,  how- 
ever, they  had  to  remove  the  priest's  papers  and 
things  :  they  were  covered  Avith  a  baize  cloth. 
Mrs.  Gaunt  felt  them  under  it. 

"  But  perhaps  he  will  be  angry  if  we  move  hia 
papers,"  said  she. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


55 


'  t  Not  he, "  said  Betty,  ' '  He  has  no  secrets 
from  God  or  man." 

"  Well,  i"  won't  take,  it  on  me,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  merrily.  "I  leave  that  to  you."  And 
she  turned  her  back  and  settled  the  mirror  of- 
ficiously, leaving  all  the  other  responsibilities  toj 
Betty.      ■..   •     . 

The  sturdy  widow  laughed  at  her  scruples, 
and  whipped. off  the  cloth  without  ceremony. 
But  soon  her  laugh:  stopped  mighty  short,  audi 
she  uttered  an  exclamation. 

' '  What  is  the  matter  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  turn- 
ing her  head  sharply  round. 

"A  wench's  glove,  as  I'm  a  living  sinner," 
groaned  Betty.  :. 

A  poor  little  glove  lay  on  the, table,  and  both 
women  eyed  it  like  basilisks  a  moment.  Then 
Betty  pounced  on  it  and  examined  it  with  the 
fierce  keenness  of  her  sex  in  such  conjunctures, 
searching  for  a  name  or  a,  clew. 

Owing. to  this  rapidity,  Mrs.  Gaunt,  who  stood 
.at  some  distance,  had  not  time  to  observe  the 
button  on  the  glove,  or  she  would  have  recog- 
nized her,  own  property. 

"He  have  had  a,  hussy  with  him-  unbeknown," 
said  Betty,  "and  she  have  left  her  glove.  'Tis 
easy  to  get  in  by  the  window  and  out  again. 
Only  let  me  catch  her.  I'll  tear  her  eyes  out, 
and  give  him  my  mind,  I'll  have  no  young  hus- 
sies creeping  in  an'  out  where  I  be. " 

Thus  spoke  the  simple  woman,  venting  her 
coarse  domestic  jealousy. 

The  gentlewoman  said  nothing,  but  a  strange 
feeling  traversed  her  heart  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,, 

It  was  a  little  chjll,  it  was  a  little  ache,  it  was 
a  little  sense  of  sickness  ;  none  of  these  violent, 
yet  all  distinct.  And  all  about  what?  After 
this  curious,  novel  spasm  at  the  heart,  she  began 
to  be  ashamed  of  herself  for  having  had  such  a 
feeling. 

Betty  held  her  out  the  glove ;  and  then  she 
recognized  it>  and  turned  as  red  as  fire. 

"You  know  whose  'tis  ?"  said  Betty,  keenly. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  on  her  guard  in  a  moment. 
"  Why,  Betty,"  said i she,  "  for  shame !  ■  'tis,  some 
penitent  hath  left  her  glove  after  confession. 
Would  you  belie  a  good  man  for  that  ?    Oh  fie !" 

"Humph!"  said  Betty,  doubtfully.  ."Then 
why  keep  it  under  cover  ?  Now  you  can  read, 
dame  ;  let  us  see  if  there  isn't  a  letter  or  so  writ 
by  the  hand  as  owns  this  very  glove." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  declined,  with  cold  dignity,  to  pry 
Into  Brother  Leonard's  manuscripts. 

Her  eye,  however,  darted  sidelong  at  them, 
and  told  another  tale ;  and,  if  she  had  been  there 
alone,  perhaps  the  daughter  of  Eve  would  have 
predominated. 

Betty,  inflamed  by  the  glove,  rummaged  the 
papers  in  search  of  female  handwriting.  She 
could  tell  that  from  a  man's,  though  she  could 
not  read  either. 

But  there  is  a  handwriting  that  the  most  ig- 
norant can  read  at  sight,  and  so  Betty's  research- 
es were  not  in  vain  :  hidden  under  several  sheets 
of  paper  she  found  a  picture.  She  gave  but  one 
glance  at  it,  and  screamed  out,  "  There,  didn't  I 
tell  you  ?  Here  she  is !  the  brazen,  red-haired — 
Lawk  a  daisy  !  why,  'tis  yourself.  " 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


"Me!"  cried  Mrs.  Gaunt,  in  amazement: 
then  she  ran  to  the  picture,  and  at  sight  of  it 
every  other  sentiment  gave  way  for  a  moment  to 
gratified  vanity.  "Nay,"  said  she,  beaming, 
and  blushing,  "I  was  never  half  so  beautiful. 
What  heavenly  eyes!" 

"The  fellows  to  'em  be  in  your  own  head, 
dame;  this  moment." 

"Seeing is  believing,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  gayly, 
and  in  a  moment  she  was  at  the  priest's  mirror, 
and  inspected  her  eyes  minutely,  cocking  her 
head  this  way  and  that.  She  ended  by  shaking 
it,  and  saying  "  Nay  ;  he  has  flattered  them  pro- 
digiously." 

"  Not  a  jot,"  said  Betty.  "  If  you  could  see 
yourself  in  chapel,  you  do  turn  'em  up  just  so, 
and,  the  white  shows  nil  round."  Then  she  tap- 
ped the  picture  with  her  finger:  "Oh  them 
eyes  !.  they  were  never  made  for  the  good  of  his 
soul,  poor  simple  man." 

Betty  said  this"  with  sudden  gravity ;  and  now 
Mrs.  Gaunt  began  to  feel  very  awkward.  "Mr. 
Gaunt  would  give  fifty  pounds  for  this,"  said 
she,  to  gain  time ;  and,  while  she  uttered  that 
sentence,  she  whipped  on  her  armor. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  she,  calmly  : 
"■he  wished  to  paint  a  Madonna;  and  he  must 
take  some  woman's  face  to  aid  his  fancy.  All 
the  painters  are  driven  to  that.  So  he  just  took 
.the  best  that  came  to , hand,  and  that  is  not  say- 
ing much,  for  this  is  a  rare  ill-favored  parish ; 
and  he  has  made  an  angel  of  her — a  very  angel. 
There,  hide  Me  away  again,  or  I  shall  long  for 
tMe< — to  show  to  my  husband.  I  must  be  go- 
ing; I  wouldn't  be  caught  here  now  for  a  pen- 
sion." 

"Well,  if  ye.  must,"  said  Betty;  "but  when 
iwill  ye  come  again  ?"  (She  hadn't  got  the  pet- 
ticoat yet.) 

"Humph!"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  "I  have  done 
all  I  can  for  him,  and  perhaps  more  than  I 
ought.  But  there's  nothing  to  hinder  you  from 
coming  ,to  me.  I'll  be  as  good  as  my  word  ;  and 
I  have  an  old  Raduasoy  besides ;  you  can  do 
something  with  it,  perhaps." 

"You  are  very  good,  dame,"  said  Betty, 
courtesy  in  g. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  then  hurried  away,  and  Betty 
looked  after  her  very  expressively,  and  shook  her 
head.  She  had  a  female  instinct  that  mischief 
was  brewing. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  went  home  in  a  reverie. 

At  the  gate  she  found  her  husband,  and  asked 
him  to  take  a  turn  in  the  garden  with  her. 

He  complied ;  and  she  intended  to  tell  him  a 
portion,  at  least,  of  what  had  occurred.  She 
began -timidly,  after  this  fashion  —  "My  dear, 
Brother  Leonard  is  so  grateful  for  your  flowers," 
and  then  hesitated. 

i  "  I'm  sure  he  is  very  welcome,"  said  Griffith. 
"  Why  doesn't  he  sup  with  us  and  be  sociable, 
as  Father  Francis  used?  Invite  him;  let  him 
know  he  will  be  welcome." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  blushed,  and  objected,  "  He  never 
calls  on  us." 

"Well,  well,  every  man  to  his  taste,"  said 
Griffith,  indifferently,  and  proceeded  to  talk  to 
her  about  his  farm,  and  a  sorrel  mare  with  a 
white  mane  and  tail  that  he  had  seen,  and 
thought  it  would  suit  her. 


56 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


She  humored  him,  and  affected  a  great  inter- 
est in  all  this,  and  had  not  the  courage  to  force 
the  other  topic  on. 

Next  Sunday  morning,  after  a  very  silent 
breakfast,  she  burst  out,  almost  violently,  "  Grif- 
fith, I  shall  go  to  the  parish  church  with  you, 
and  then  we  will  dine  together  afterward." 

"You  don't  mean  it,  Kate?"  said  he,  de- 
lighted. 

"Ay,  but  I  do.  Although  you  refused  to  go 
to  chapel  with  me. " 

They  went  to  church  together,  and  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  appearance  there  created  no  small  sen- 
sation. She  was  conscious  of  that,  but  hid  it, 
and  conducted  herself  admirably.  Her  mind 
seemed  entirely  given  to  the  service,  and  to  a 
dull  sermon  that  followed. 

But  at  dinner  she  broke  out,  "  Well,  give  me 
your  church  for  a  sleeping  draught.  You  all 
slumbered,  more  or  less :  those  that  survived  the 
drowsy,  droning  prayers,  sank  under  the  dry, 
dull,  dreary  discourse.     You  snored,  for  one." 

"  Nay,  I  hope  not,  my  dear." 

"  You  did,  then,  as  loud  as  your  bass  fiddle." 

"And  you  sat  there  and  let  me !"  said  Griffith, 
reproachfully. 

1 '  To  be  sure  I  did.  I  was  too  good  a  wife, 
and  too  good  a  Christian,  to  wake  you.  Sleep  is 
good  for  the  body,  and  twaddle  is  not  good  for 
the  soul.  I'd  have  slept  too,  if  I  could ;  but, 
with  me  going  to  chapel,  I'm  not  used  to  sleep 
at  that  time  o'  day.  You  can't  sleep,  and  Broth- 
er Leonard  speaking." 

In  the  afternoon  came  Mrs.  Gough,  all  in  her 
best.  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  her  into  her  bedroom, 
and  gave  her  the  promised  petticoat,  and  the  old 
Faduasoy  gown ;  and  then,  as  ladies  will,  when 
their  hand  is  once  in,  added  first  one  thing,  and 
then  another,  till  there  was  quite  a  large  bundle. 

"  But  how  is  it  you  are  here  so  soon  ?"  asked 
Mrs.  Gaunt. 

"  Oh,  we  had  next  to  no  sermon  to-day.  He 
couldn't  make  no  hand  of  it ;  dawdled  on  a  bit ; 
then  gave  us  his  blessing,  and  bundled  us  out." 

"  Then  I've  lost  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

"  Not  you.  Well,  I  don't  know.  Mayhap  if 
3rou  had  been  there  he'd  have  preached  his  best. 
But,  la!  we  weren't  worth  it." 

At  this  conjecture  Mrs.  Gaunt's  face  burned ; 
but  she  said  nothing ;  only  she  cut  the  interview 
short,  and  dismissed  Betty  with  her  bundle. 

As  Betty  crossed  the  landing,  Mrs.  Gaunt's 
new  lady's-maid,  Caroline  Ryder,  stepped  acci- 
dentally, on  purpose,  out  of  an  adjoining  room, 
in  which  she  had  been  lurking,  and  lifted  her 
black  brows  in  affected  surprise.  "What,  are 
you  going  to  strip  the  house,  my  woman  ?"  said 
she,  quietly. 

Betty  put  down  the  bundle,  and  set  her  arms 
akimbo.  "  There  is  none  on't  stolen,  any  way," 
said  she. 

Caroline's  black  eyes  flashed  fire  at  this,  and 
her  cheek  lost  color ;  but  she  parried  the  innuen- 
do skillfully. 

"  Taking  my  perquisites  on  the  sly,  that  is  not 
so  very  far  from  stealing." 

"  Oh,  there's  plenty  left  for  you,  my  fine  lady. 
Besides,  you  don't  want  her ;  you  can  set  j'our 
cap  at  the  master,  they  say.  I'm  too  old  for 
that,  and  too  honest  into  the  bargain." 

"  Too  ill-favored,  you  mean,  ye  old  harridan," 
said  Ryder,  contemptuously. 


But,  for  reasons  hereafter  to  be  dealt  with, 
Betty's  thrust  went  home,  and  the  pair  were 
mortal  enemies  from  that  hour. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  came  down  from  her  room  dis- 
composed ;  from  that  she  became  restless  and 
irritable ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that,  at  last,  Mr. 
Gaunt  told  her,  good-humoredly  enough,  if  going 
to  church  made  her  ill  (meaning  peevish),  she 
had  better  go  to  chapel.  "  You  are  right,"  said 
she, ' '  and  so  I  will. " 

The  next  Sunday  she  was  at  her  post  in  good 
time. 

The  preacher  cast  an  anxious  glance  around 
to  see  if  she  was  there.  Her  quick  eye  saw  that 
glance,  and  it  gave  her  a  demure  pleasure. 

This  day  he  was  more  eloquent  than  ever,  and 
he  delivered  a  beautiful  passage  concerning  those 
who  do  good  in  secret.  In  uttering  these  elo- 
quent sentences,  his  cheek  glowed,  and  he  could 
not  deny  himself  the  pleasure  of  looking  down  at 
the  lovely  face  that  was  turned  up  to  him.  Frob- 
ably  his  look  was  more  expressive  than  he  in- 
tended :  the  celestial  eyes  sank  under  it,  and 
were  abashed,  and  the  fair  cheek  burned;  and 
then  so  did  Leonard's  at  that. 

Thus  subtly  yet  effectually  did  these  two  minds 
communicate  in  a  crowd,  that  never  noticed  nor 
suspected  the  delicate  interchange  of  sentiment 
that  was  going  on  under  their  very  eyes. 

In  a  general  way  compliments  did  not  seduce 
Mrs.  Gaunt :  she  was  well  used  to  them,  for  one 
thing.  But  to  be  praised  in  that  sacred  edifice, 
and  from  the  pulpit,  and  by  such  an  orator  as 
Leonard,  and  to  be  praised  in  words  so  sacred 
and  beautiful  that  the  ears  around  her  drank 
them  with  delight,  all  this  made  her  heart  beat, 
and  filled  her  with  soft  and  sweet  complacency. 

And  then  to  be  thanked  in  public,  yet,  as  it 
were,  clandestinely,  this  gratified  the  furtive  ten- 
dency of  women. 

There  was  no  irritability  this  afternoon,  but  a 
gentle  radiance  that  diffused  itself  on  all  around, 
and  made  the  whole  household  happy,  especially 
Griffith,  whose  pipe  she  filled,  for  once,  with  her 
own  white  hand,  and  talked  dogs,  horses,  calves, 
hinds,  cows,  politics,  markets,  hay,  to  please  him, 
and  seemed  interested  in  them  all. 

But  the  next  day  she  changed — ill  at  ease,  and 
out  of  spirits,  and  could  settle  to  nothing. 

It  was  very  hot,  for  one  thing ;  and,  altogether, 
a  sort  of  lassitude  and  distaste  for  every  thing 
overpowered  her,  and  she  retired  into  the  grove, 
and  sat  languidly  on  a  seat  with  half-closed  eyes. 

But  her  meditations  were  no  longer  so  calm 
and  speculative  as  heretofore.  She  found  her 
mind  constantly  recurring  to  one  person,  and, 
above  all,  to  the  discovery  she  had  made  of  her 
portrait  in  his  possession.  She  had  turned  it  off 
to  Betty  Gough ;  but  here,  in  her  calm  solitude 
and  umbrageous  twilight,  her  mind  crept  out  of 
its  cave,  like  wild  and  timid  things  at  dusk,  and 
whispered  to  her  heart  that  Leonard  perhaps  ad- 
mired her  more  than  was  safe  or  prudent. 

Then  this  alarmed  her,  yet  caused  her  a  secret 
complacency ;  and  that,  her  furtive  satisfaction, 
alarmed  her  still  more. 

Now,  while  she  sat  thus  absorbed,  she  heard  a 
gentle  footstep  coming  near.  She  looked  up,  and 
there  was  Leonard  close  to  her,  standing  meekly 
with  his  arms  crossed  upon  his  bosom. 

His  being  there  so  pat  upon  her  thoughts 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


57 


geared  her  out  of  her  habitual  self-command. 
She  started  up  with  a  faint  cry,  and  stood  pant- 
ing, as  if  about  to  fly,  with  her  beautiful  eyes 
turned  large  upon  him. 

He  put  forth  a  deprecating  hand,  and  soothed 
her.  ' '  Forgive  me,  madam, "  said  he,  "  I  have  un- 
awares intruded  on  your  privacy;  I  will  retire." 

"Nay,"  said  she,  falteringly,  "you  are  wel- 
come. But  no  one  comes  here ;  so  I  was  star- 
tled;" then,  recovering  herself,  "Excuse  my  ill 
manners.  'Tis  so  strange  you  should  come  to 
me  here,  of  all  places. " 

"  Nay,  my  daughter,"  said  the  priest,  "  not  so 
very  strange:  contemplative  minds  love  such 
places.  Calling  one  day  to  see  you,  I  found  this 
sweet  and  solemn  grove,  the  like  I  never  saw  in 
England;  and  to-day  I  returned  in  hopes  to  profit 
by  it.  Do  but  look  around  at  these  tall  columns  ; 
how  calm,  how  reverend !  'Tis  God's  own  tem- 
ple, not  built  with  hands." 

"Indeed  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  earnestly. 
Then,  like  a  woman  as  she  was,  "So  you  came  to 
gee  my  trees,  not  me." 

Leonard  blushed.  ' '  I  did  not  design  to  return 
without  paying  my  respects  to  her  who  owns  this 
temple,  and  is  worthy  of  it ;  nay,  I  beg  you  not 
to  think  me  ungrateful. " 

His  humility,  and  gentle  but  earnest  voice, 
made  Mrs.  Gaunt  ashamed  of  her  petulance.  She 
smiled  sweetly,  and  looked  pleased.  However, 
ere  long,  she  attacked  him  again.  ' '  Father 
Francis  used  to  visit  us  often,"  said  she.  "  He 
made  friends  with  my  husband,  too.  And  I  never 
lacked  an  adviser  while  he  was  here. " 

Leonard  looked  so  confused  at  this  second  re- 
proach that  Mrs.  Gaunt  regretted  having  uttered 
it.  Then  he  said  humbly  that  Francis  Avas  a 
secular  priest,  whereas  he  was  convent-bred.  He 
added  that  by  his  years  and  experience  Francis 
was  better  fitted  to  advise  persons  of  her  age  and 
sex  in  matters  secular  than  he  was.  He  con- 
cluded timidly  that  he  was  ready,  nevertheless, 
to  tiy  and  advise  her,  but  could  not,  in  such  mat- 
ters, assume  the  authority  that  belongs  to  age 
and  knowledge  of  the  world. 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  she,  earnestly,  "guide  and 
direct  my  soul,  and  I  am  content." 

He  said,  yes ;  that  was  his  duty  and  his  right. 

Then,  after  a  little  hesitation,  which  at  once 
let  her  know  what  was.  coming,  he  began  to  thank 
her,  with  infinite  grace  and  sweetness,  for  her 
kindness  to  him. 

She  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  and  said  she 
was  not  aware  of  any  kindness  she  had  shown 
him  worth  speaking  of. 

"That  but  shows,"  said  he,  "how  natural  it 
is  to  you  to  do  acts  of  goodness.  My  poor  room 
in  a  very  bower  now,  and  I  am  happy  in  it.  I 
used  to  feel  very  sad  there  at  times,  but  your 
hand  has  cured  me." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  colored  beautifully.  "  You  make 
me  ashamed,"  said  she.  "Things  are  come  to 
a  pass  indeed  if  a  lady  may  not  send  a  few  flow- 
ers and  things  to  her  spiritual  father  without 
being — thanked  for  it.  And  oh !  sir,  what  are 
earthly  flowers  compared  with  those  blossoms  of 
the  soul  you  have  shed  so  liberally  over  us  ?  Our 
immortal  pai*ts  were  all  asleep  when  you  came 
here,  and  waked  them  by  the  fire  of  your  words. 
Eloquence !  'twas  a  thing  I  had  read  of,  but  never 
heard,  nor  thought  to  hear.  Methought  the  or- 
ators and  poets  of  the  Church  were  all  in  their 


graves  this  thousand  years,  and  she  must  go  all 
the  way  to  heaven  that  would  hear  the  soul's 
true  music.     But  I  know  better  now." 

Leonard  colored  high  with  pleasure.  rt  Such 
praise  from  you  is  too  sweet,"  he  muttered.  "  I 
must  not  court  it.  The  heart  is  full  of  vanity." 
And  he  deprecated  farther  eulogy  by  a  movement 
of  the  hand  extremely  refined,  and,  in  fact,  rather 
feminine. 

Deferring  to  his  wish,  Mrs.  Gaunt  glided  to 
other  matters,  and  was  naturally  led  to  speak  of 
the  prospects  of  their  Church,  and  the  possibility 
of  reconverting  these  islands.  This  had  been 
the  dream  of  her  young  heart ;  but  marriage  and 
maternity,  and  the  universal  coldness  with  which 
the  subject  had  been  received,  had  chilled  her  so, 
that  of  late  years  she  had  almost  ceased  to  speak 
of  it.  Even  Leonard,  on  a  former  occasion,  had 
listened  coldly  to  her;  but  now  his  heart  was 
open  to  her.  He  was,  in  fact,  quite  as  enthusi- 
astic on  this  point  as  ever  she  had  been ;  and 
then  he  had  digested  his  aspirations  into  clearer 
forms.  Not  only  had  he  resolved  that  Great 
Britain  must  be  converted,  but  had  planned  the 
way  to  do  it.  His  cheek  glowed,  his  eyes 
gleamed,  and  he  poured  out  his  hopes  and  his 
plans  before  her  with  an  eloquence  that  few  mor- 
tals could  have  resisted. 

As  for  this,  his  hearer,  she  was  quite  carried 
away  by  it.  She  joined  herself  to  his  plans  on 
the  spot ;  she  begged,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  to 
be  permitted  to  support  him  in  this  great  cause. 
She  devoted  to  it  her  substance,  her  influence, 
and  every  gift  that  God  had  given  her :  the  hours 
passed  like  minutes  in  this  high  converse ;  and, 
when  the  tinkling  of  the  little  bell  at  a  distance 
summoned  him  to  vespers,  he  left  her  with  a 
gentle  regret  he  scarcely  tried  to  conceal,  and  she 
went  slowly  in  like  one  in  a  dream,  and  the  world 
seemed  dead  to  her  forever. 

Nevertheless,  when  Mrs.  Ryder,  combing  out 
her  long  hair,  gave  one  inadvertent  tug,  the  fair 
enthusiast  came  back  to  earth,  and  asked  her, 
rather  sharply,  who  her  head  was  running  on. 

Ryder,  a  very  handsome  young  woman,  with 
fine  black  eyes,  made  no  reply,  but  only  drew  her 
breath  audiL.y  hard. 

I  do  not  very  much  wonder  at  that,  nor  at  my 
having  to  answer  that  question  for  Mrs.  Ryder, 
for  her  head  was  -at  that  moment  running,  like 
any  other  woman's,  on  the  man  she  was  in  love 
with. 

And  the  man  she  was  in  love  with  was  the 
husband  of  the  lady  whose  hair  she  was  comb- 
ing, and  who  put  her  that  curious  question — 
plump. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

This  Caroline  Ryder  was  a  character  almost 
impossible  to  present  so  as  to  enable  the  reader 
to  recognize  her  should  she  cross  his  path,  so 
great  was  the  contradiction  between  what  she 
was  and  what  she  seemed,  and  so  perfect  was  the 
imitation. 

She  looked  a  respectable  young  spinster,  with 
a  grace  of  manner  beyond  her  station,  and  a  de- 
cency and  propriety  of  demeanor  that  inspired 
respect. 

She  was  a  married  woman,  separated  from  her 


58 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


husband  by  mutual  consent;  and  she  had  had 
many  lovers,  each  of  whom  she  had  loved  ardent- 
ly— for  a  little  while.  She  was  a  woman  that 
brought  to  bear  upon  foolish,  culpable  loves  a 
mental  power  that  would  have  adorned  the  wool- 
sack. 

The  moment  prudence  or  waning  inclination 


an  invaluable  servant,  she  got  one  directly,  and 
was  off  to  fresh  pastures. 

A  female  rake,  but  with  the  air  of  a  very  prude. 

Still  the  decency  and  propriety  of  her  demean- 
or were  not  all  hypocrisy,  but  half  hypocrisy,  and 
half  inborn  aud  instinctive  good  taste  and  good 
sense. 


made  it  advisable  to  break  with  the  reigning  f  i- 
vorite,  she  set  to  work  to  cool  him  down  by  tie- 
liberate  coldness,  sullenness,  insolence,  and  gen- 
erally succeeded.  But  if  he  was  incurable,  she 
never  hesitated  as  to  her  course ;  she  smiled  again 
on  him  and  looked  out  for  another  place :  being 


As  dangerous  a  creature  to  herself  and  otherg 
as  ever  tied  on  a  bonnet. 

On  her  arrival  at  Hernshaw  Castle  she  cast  her 
eyes  round  to  see  what  there  was  to  fall  in  love 
with,  and  observed  the  gamekeeper,  Tom  Lei- 
cester.    She  gave  him  a  smile  or  two  that  won 


GEIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


58 


his  heart,  but  there  she  stopped ;  for  soon  the 
ruddy  cheek,  brown  eyes,  manly  proportions,  and 
square  shoulders  of  her  master  attracted  this  con- 
noisseur in  masculine  beauty.  And  then  his 
manner  was  so  genial  and  hearty,  with  a  smile 
for  every  body.  Mrs.  Ryder  eyed  him  demurely 
day  by  day,  and  often  opened  a  window  slyly  to 
watch  him  unseen. 

From  that  she  got  to  throwing  herself  in  his 
way,  and  this  with  such  art  that  he  never  dis- 
covered it,  though  he  fell  in  with  her  about  the 
house  six  times  as  often  as  he  met  his  wife  or 
any  other  inmate. 

She  had  already  studied  his  character,  and, 
whether  she  arranged  to  meet  him  full  or  to  cross 
him,  it  was  always  with  a  courtesy  and  a  sun- 
shiny smile.  He  smiled  on  her  in  his  turn,  and 
felt  a  certain  pleasure  at  sight  of  her,  for  he  loved 
to  see  people  bright  and  cheerful  about  him. 

Then  she  did,  of  her  own  accord,  what  no  oth- 
er master  on  earth  would  have  persuaded  her  to 
do — looked  over  his  linen ;  sewed  on  buttons  for 
him ;  and  sometimes  the  artful  jade  deliberately 
cut  a  button  off  a  clean  shirt,  and  then  came  to 
him  and  sewed  it  on  during  Avear.  This  brought 
about  a  contact  none  knew  better  than  she  how 
to  manage  to  a  man's  undoing.  The  eyelashes 
lowered  over  her  work,  deprecating,  yet  inviting 
— the  twenty  stitches,  when  six  would  have  done 
— the  one  coy  glance  at  leaving.  All  this  soft 
witchcraft  beset  Griffith  Gaunt,  and  told  on  him, 
but  not  as  yet  in  the  way  his  inamorata  intended. 
"Kate,"  said  he  one  day,  "that  girl  of  yours  is 
worth  her  weight  in  gold. " 

■ '  Indeed ! "  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  frigidly ;  "  I  have 
not  discovered  it." 

When  Caroline  found  that  her  master  was  sin- 
gle-hearted, and  loved  his  wife  too  well  to  look 
elsewhere,  instead  of  hating  him,  she  began  to 
love  him  more  seriously,  and  to  hate  his  wife, 
that  haughty  beauty  who  took  such  a  husband 
as  a  matter  of  course,  and  held  him  tight  with- 
out troubling  her  head. 

It  was  a  coarse  age,  and  in  that  very  county 
more  than  one  wife  had  suffered  jealous  agony 
from  her  own  domestic.  But  here  the  parts  were 
inverted :  the  lady  was  at  her  ease ;  the  servant 
paid  a  bitter  penalty  for  her  folly.  She  was  now 
passionately  in  love,  and  had  to  do  menial  offices 
for  her  rival  every  hour  of  the  day :  she  must  sit 
with  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  make  her  dresses,  and  con- 
sult with  her  how  to  set  off  her  hateful  beauty  to 
the  best  advantage.  She  had  to  dress  her,  and 
look  daggers  at  her  satin  skin  and  royal  neck, 
and  to  sit  behind  her  an  hour  at  a  time  combing 
and  brushing  her  long  golden  hair. 

How  she  longed  to  tear  a  handful  of  it  out,  and 
then  run  away !  Instead  of  that,  her  happy  rival 
expected  her  to  be  as  tender  and  coaxing  with  it 
as  Madame  de  Maintenon  was  with  the  Queen's 
of  France. 

Ryder  called  it  "yellow  stuff"  down  in  the 
kitchen ;  that  was  one  comfort,  but  a  feeble  one ; 
the  sun  came  in  at  the  lady's  window,  and  Ryder's 
shapely  hand  was  overflowed,  and  her  eyes  of- 
fended, by  waves  of  burnished  gold  ;  and  one  day 
Griffith  came  in  and  kissed  it  in  her  very  hand. 
His  lips  felt  nothing  but  his  wife's  glorious  hair ; 
but,  by  that  exquisite  sensibility  which  the  heart 
can  convey  in  a  moment  to  the  very  finger- 
nails, Caroline's  hand,  beneath,  felt  the  soft  touch 
through  her  mistress's  hah-,  and  the  enamored 


hypocrite  thrilled,  and  then  sickened  at  her  own 
folly. 

For  in  her  good  sense  could  be  overpowered, 
but  never  long  blinded. 

On  the  day  in  question  she  was  thinking  of 
Griffith,  as  usual,  and  wondering  whether  he 
would  always  prefer  yellow  hair  to  black.  This 
actually  put  her  off  her  guard  for  once,  and  she 
gave  the  rival  hair  a  little  contemptuous  tug; 
and  the  reader  knows  what  followed. 

Staggered  by  her  mistress's  question,  Caroline 
made  no  reply,  but  only  panted  a  little,  and  pro- 
ceeded more  carefully. 

But  oh,  the  struggle  it  cost  her  not  to  slap  both 
Mrs.  Gaunt's  fair  cheeks  with  the  backs  of  the 
brashes !  And  what  with  this  struggle,  and  the 
reprimand,  and  the  past  agitations,  by-and-by 
the  comb  ceased,  and  the  silence  was  broken  by 
faint  sobs. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  turned  calmly  round  and  looked 
full  at  her  hysterical  handmaid. 

"  What  is  to  do?"  said  she.  "Is  it  because 
I  chid  you,  child  ?  Nay,  you  need  not  take  that 
to  heart ;  it  is  just  my  way :  I  can  bear  any  thing 
but  my  hair  pulled."  With  this  she  rose  and 
poured  some  drops  of  sal-volatile  into  water,  and 
put  it  to  her  secret  rival's  lips :  it  was  kindly 
done,  but  with  that  sort  of  half  contemptuous  and 
thoroughly  cold  pity  women  are  apt  to  show  to 
women,  and  especially  when  one  of  them  is  Mis- 
tress and  the  other  is  Servant. 

Still  it  cooled  the  extreme  hatred  Caroline  had 
nursed,  and  gave  her  a  little  twinge,  and  awak- 
ened her  intelligence.  Now  hev  intelligence  was 
truly  remarkable  when  not  blinded  by  passion. 
She  was  a  woman  with  one  or  two  other  mas- 
culine traits  beside  her  roving  heart.  For  in- 
stance, she  could  sit  and  think  hard  and  practi- 
cally for  hours  together  ;  and  on  these  occasions 
her  thoughts  were  never  dreamy  and  vague ;  it 
was  no  brown  study,  but  good  hard  thinking. 
She  would  knit  her  coal-black  brows,  like  Lord 
Thurlow  himself,  and  realize  the  situation,  and 
weigh  the  pros  and  cons  with  a  steady  judicial 
power  rarely  found  in  her  sex  ;  and,  nota  bene, 
when  once  her  mind  had  gone  through  this  pro- 
cess, then  she  would  act  with  almost  monstrous 
resolution. 

She  now  shut  herself  up  in  her  own  room  for 
some  hours  and  weighed  the  matter  carefully. 

The  conclusion  she  arrived  at  was  this — that 
if  she  staid  at  Hernshaw  Castle  there  would  be 
mischief;  and  probably  she  herself  would  be  the 
principal  sufferer  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,  as  she 
was  now. 

She  said  to  herself,  "I  shall  go  mad,  or  else 
expose  myself,  and  be  turned  away  with  loss  of 
character ;  and  then  what  will  become  of  me  and 
my  child  ?  Better  lose  life  or  reason  than  char- 
acter. I  know  what  I  have  to  go  thi-ough ;  I 
have  left  a  man  ere  now  with  my  heart  tugging 
at  me  to  stay  beside  him.  It  is  a  terrible  wrench ; 
and  then  all  seems  dead  for  a  long  while  without 
him.  But  the  world  goes  on  and  takes  you  round 
with  it,  and  by-and-by  you  find  there  are  as  good 
fish  left  in  the  sea  as  ever  came  out  on't.  I'll  go, 
while  I've  sense  enough  left  to  see  I  must." 

The  very  next  day  she  came  to  Mrs.  Gaunt  and 
said  she  wished  to  leave.  ' '  Certainly, "  said  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  coldly.     "May  I  ask  the  reason ?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  no  complaint  to  make,  ma'am, 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


none  whatever ;  but  I  am  not  happy  here ;  and 
I  wish  to  go  when  my  month's  up,  or  sooner, 
ma'am,  if  you  could  suit  yourself." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  considered*  a  moment ;  then  she 
said,  "You  came  all  the  way  from  Gloucester- 
shire to  me  :  had  you  not  better  give  the  place  a 
fair  trial  ?  I  have  had  two  or  three  good  servants 
that  felt  uncomfortable  at  first,  but  they  soon 
found  out  my  ways,  and  staid  with  me  till  they 
married.  As  for  leaving  me  before  your  month, 
that  is  out  of  the  question."  To  this  Ryder  said 
not  a  word,  but  merely  vented  a  little  sigh,  half 
dogged,  half  submissive,  and  went  cat-like  about, 
arranging  her  mistress's  things  with  admirable 
precision  and  neatness.  Mrs.  Gaunt  watched 
her  without  seeming  to  do  so,  and  observed  that 
her  discontent  did  not  in  the  least  affect  her  punc- 
tual discharge  of  her  duties.  Said  Mrs.  Gaunt 
to  herself, ' '  This  servant  is  a  treasure  ;  she  shall 
not  go."  And  Ryder  to  herself,  "Well,  'tis  but 
for  a  month,  and  then  no  power  shall  keep  me 
here." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Not  long  after  these  events  came  the  county 
ball.  Griffith  was  there,  but  no  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
This  excited  surprise,  and,  among  the  gentle- 
men, disappointment.  They  asked  Griffith  if  she 
was  unwell;  he  thanked  them  dryly,  she  was 
very  well,  and  that  was  all  they  could  get  out  of 
him.  But  to  the  ladies  he  let  out  that  she  had 
given  up  balls,  and,  indeed,  all  reasonable  pleas- 
ures. "  She  does  nothing  but  fast,  and  pray, 
and  visit  the  sick."  He  added,  with  rather  a 
weak  smile,  "  I  see  next  to  nothing  of  her."  A 
minx  stood  by  and  put  in  her  word.  "You 
should  catch  the  small-pox  ;  then  who  knows  ? 
she  might  look  in  upon  you.'1 

Griffith  laughed,  but  not  heartily.  In  truth, 
Mrs.  Gaunt's  religious  fervor  knew  no  bounds. 
Absorbed  in  pious  schemes  and  religious  duties, 
she  had  little  time,  and  much  distaste,  for  frivo- 
lous society;  invited  none  but  the  devout,  and 
found  polite  excuses  for  not  dining  abroad.  She 
sent  her  husband  into  the  world  alone,  and  laden 
with  apologies.  "My  wife  is  turned  saint.  'Tis 
a  sin  to  dance,  a  sin  to  hunt,  a  sin  to  enjoy  our- 
selves. We  are  here  to  fast  and  pray,  and  build 
schools,  and  go  to  church  twice  a  day. " 

And  so  he  went  about  publishing  his  household 
ill ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  a  secret  satisfaction 
peeped  through  his  lugubrious  accents.  An  ugly 
saint  is  an  unmixed  calamity  to  jolly  fellows  ;  but 
to  be  lord  and  master,  and  possessor  of  a  beauti- 
ful saint,  was  not  without  its  piquant  charm.  His 
jealousy  was  dormant,  not  extinct ;  and  Kate's 
piety  tickled  that  foible,  not  wounded  it.  He 
found  himself  the  rival  of  heaven,  and  the  suc- 
cessful rival ;  for,  let  her  be  ever  so  strict,  ever 
so  devout,  she  must  give  her  husband  many  com- 
forts she  could  not  give  to  heaven. 

This  soft  and  piquant  phase  of  the  passion  did 
not  last  long.     All  things  are  progressive. 

Brother  Leonard  was  director  now  as  well  as 
confessor ;  his  visits  became  frequent,  and  Mrs. 
Gaunt  often  quoted  his  authority  for  her  acts  or 
her  sentiments.  So  Griffith  began  to  suspect 
that  the  change  in  his  wife  was  entirely  due  to 
Leonard ;  and  that,  with  all  her  eloquence  and 
fervor,  she  was  but  a  priest's  echo.     This  galled 


him.  To  be  sure,  Leonard  was  only  an  ecclesi- 
astic ;  but,  if  he  had  been  a  woman,  Griffith  was 
the  man  to  wince.  His  wife  to  lean  so  on  anoth- 
er ;  his  wife  to  withdraw  from  the  social  pleasures 
she  had  hitherto  shared  with  him,  and  all  because 
another  human  creature  disapproved  them.  He 
writhed  in  silence  a  while,  and  then  remonstra- 
ted. He  was  met  at  first  with  ridicule:  "Are 
you  going  to  be  jealous  of  my  confessor  ?"  and, 
on  repeating  the  offense,  with  a  kind  but  grave 
admonition,  that  silenced  him  for  the  time,  but 
did  not  cure  him,  nor  even  convince  him. 

The  facts  were  too  strong.  Kate  was  no  lon- 
ger to  him  the  genial  companion  she  had  been ; 
gone  was  the  ready  sympathy  with  which  she  had 
listened  to  all  his  little  earthly  concerns  ;  and  as 
for  his  hay-making,  he  might  as  well  talk  about 
it  to  an  iceberg  as  to  the  partner  of  his  bosom. 

He  was  genial  by  nature,  and  could  not  live 
without  sympathy.  He  sought  it  in  the  parlor 
of  the  "Ped  Lion." 

Mrs.  Gaunt's  high-bred  nostrils  told  her  where 
he  haunted,  and  it  caused  her  dismay.  Woman- 
like, instead  of  opening  her  battery  at  once,  she 
wore  a  gloomy  and  displeased  air,  which  a  few 
months  ago  would  have  served  her  turn  and 
brought  about  an  explanation  at  once ;  but  Grif- 
fith took  it  for  a  stronger  dose  of  religious  senti- 
ment, and  trundled  off  to  the  "  Red  Lion"  all  the 
more. 

So  then  at  last  she  spoke  her  mind,  and  asked 
him  how  he  could  lower  himself  so,  and  afflict  her. 

"Oh !"  said  he,  doggedly,  "this  house  is  too 
cold  for  me  now.  My  mate  is  priest-rid.  Plague 
on  the  knave  that  hath  put  coldness  'twixt  thee 
and  me." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  froze  visibly,  and  said  no  more  at 
that  time. 

One  bit  of  sunshine  remained  in  the  house,  and 
shone  brighter  than  ever  on  its  chilled  master — 
shone  through  two  black,  seducing  eyes. 

Some  three  months  before  the  date  we  have 
now  reached,  Caroline  Ryder's  two  boxes  were 
packed  and  corded  ready  to  go  next  day.  She 
had  quietly  persisted  in  her  resolution  to  leave, 
and  Mrs.  Gaunt,  though  secretly  angry,  had  been 
just  and  magnanimous  enough  to  give  her  a  good 
character. 

Now  female  domestics  are  like  the  little  birds  ; 
if  that  great  hawk,  their  mistress,  follows  them 
about,  it  is  a  deadly  grievance ;  but  if  she  does 
not,  they  follow  her  about,  and  pester  her  with 
idle  questions,  and  invite  the  beak  and  claws  of 
petty  tyranny  and  needless  interference. 

So,  the  afternoon  before  she  was  to  leave, 
Caroline  Ryder  came  to  her  mistress's  room  on 
some  imaginary  business.  She  was  not  there. 
Ryder,  forgetting  that  it  did  not  matter  a  straw, 
proceeded  to  hunt  her  every  where,  and  at  last 
ran  out  with  only  her  cap  on  to  "the  Dame's 
Haunt,"  and  there  she  was,  but  not  alone:  she 
was  walking  up  and  down  with  Brother  Leon- 
ard. Their  backs  were  turned,  and  Ryder  came 
up  behind  them.  Leonard  was  pacing  gravely, 
with  his  head  gently  drooping  as  usual.  Mrs. 
Gaunt  was  walking  elastically,  and  discoursing 
with  great  fire  and  animation. 

Ryder  glided  after,  noiseless  as  a  serpent, 
more  bent  on  wondering  and  watching  now  than 
on  overtaking ;  for  inside  the  house  her  mistress 
showed  none  of  this  charming  vivacity. 

Presently  the  keen   black  eyes    observed  a 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


81 


11  trifle  light  as  air"  that  made  them  shine 
again. 

She  turned  and  wound  herself  among  the 
trees,  and  disappeared.  Soon  after  she  was.  in 
her  own  room,  a  changed  woman.  With  glow- 
ing cheeks,  sparkling  eyes,  and  nimble  fingers, 
she  uncorded  her  boxes,  unpacked  her  things, 
and  placed  them  neatly  in  the  drawers. 

What  more  had  she  seen  than  I  have  indi- 
cated ? 

Only  this  :  Mrs.  Gaunt,  in  the  warmth  of  dis- 
course, laid  her  hand  lightly  for  a  moment  on  the 
priest's  elbow :  that  was  nothing,  she  had  laid 
the  same  hand  on  Ryder ;  for,  in  fact,  it  was  a 
little  womanly  way  she  had,  and  a  hand  that 
settled  like  down.  But  this  time,  as  she  with- 
drew it  again,  that  delicate  hand  seemed  to 
speak ;  it  did  not  leave  Leonard's  elbow  all  at 
once ;  it  glided  slowly  away,  first  the  palm,  then 
the  fingers,  and  so  parted  lingeringly. 

The  other  woman  saw  this  subtle  touch  of 
womanhood,  coupled  it  with  Mrs.  Gaunt's  vi- 
vacity and  the  air  of  happiness  that  seemed  to 
inspire  her  whole  eloquent  person,  and  formed  a 
harsh  judgment  on  the  spot,  though  she  could 
not  see  the  lady's  face. 

When  Mrs.  Gaunt  came  in  she  met  her,  and 
addressed  her  thus:  "If  you  please,  ma'am, 
have  you  any  one  coming  in  my  place  ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  looked  her  full  in  the  face.  "You 
know  I  have  not,"  said  she,  haughtily. 

"  Then,  if  it  is  agreeable  to  you,  ma'am,  I  will 
stay.  To  be  sure  the  place  is  dull,  but  I  have 
got  a  good  mistress — and — " 

' '  That  will  do,  Ryder ;  a  servant  has  always 
her  own  reasons,  and  never  tells  them  to  her  mis- 
tress. You  can  stay  this  time,  but  the  next  you 
go,  and  once  for  all.    I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with. " 

Ryder  called  up  a  look  all  submission,  and  re- 
tired with  an  obeisance.  But,  once  out  of  sight, 
she  threw  off  the  mask  and  expanded  with  in- 
solent triumph.  ' '  Yes,  I  have  my  own  reasons, " 
said  she.  ' '  Keep  you  the  priest,  and  I'll  take 
the  man." 

From  that  hour  Caroline  Ryder  watched  her 
mistress  like  a  lynx,  and  hovered  about  her  mas- 
ter, and  poisoned  him  slowly  with  vague  insidi- 
ous hints. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Brother  Leonard,  like  many  holy  men, 
was  vain.  Not  but  what  he  had  his  gusts  of  hu- 
mility and  diffidence,  only  they  blew  over. 

At  first,  as  you  may  perhaps  remember,  he 
doubted  his  ability  to  replace  Father  Francis  as 
Mrs.  Gaunt's  director ;  but  after  a  slight  dis- 
claimer he  did  replace  him,  and  had  no  more 
misgivings  as  to  his  fitness.  But  his  tolerance 
and  good  sense  were  by  no  means  equal  to  his 
devotion  and  his  persuasive  powers,  and  so  his 
advice  in  matters  spiritual  and  secular  somehow 
sowed  the  first  seeds  of  conjugal  coolness  in 
Hernshaw  Castle. 

And  now  Ryder  slyly  insinuated  into  Griffith's 
ear  that  the  mistress  told  the  priest  every  thing, 
and  did  nothing  but  by  his  advice.  Thus"  the  fire 
already  kindled  was  fanned  by  an  artful  woman's 
breath. 

Griffith  began  to  hate  Brother  Leonard,  and 
to  show  it  so  plainly  and  rudely  that  Leonard 


shrank  from  the  encounter,  and  came  less  often^ 
and  staid  but  a  few  minutes.  Then  Mrs.  Gaunt 
remonstrated  gently  with  Griffith,  but"  received 
short,  sullen  replies.  Then,  as  the  servile  ele- 
ment of  her  sex  was  comparatively  small  in  her, 
she  turned  bitter  and  cold,  and  avenged  Leonard 
indirectly,  but  openly,  with  those  terrible  pins  and 
needles  a  beloved  woman  has  ever  at  command. 

Then  Griffith  became  moody,  and  downright 
unhappy,  and  went  more  and  more  to  the  "  Red 
Lion,"  seeking  comfort  there  now  as  well  as 
company. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  saw,  and  had  fits  of  irritation,  and 
fits  of  pity,  and  sore  perplexity.  She  knew  she 
had  a  good  husband,  and,  instead  of  taking  him 
to  heaven  with  her,  she  found  that  each  step  she 
made  with  Leonard's  help  toward  the  angelic 
life  seemed  somehow  to  be  bad  for  Griffith's  soul 
and  for  his  earthly  happiness. 

She  blamed  herself;  she  blamed  Griffith ;  she 
blamed  the  Protestant  heresy ;  she  blamed  every 
body  and  every  thing — except  Brother  Leonard. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  Griffith  sat  on  his  own 
lawn,  silently  smoking  his  pipe.  Mrs.  Gaunt 
came  to  him,  and  saw  an  air  of  dejection  on  his 
genial  face.  Her  heart  yearned.  She  sat  down 
beside  him  on  the  bench,  and  sighed ;  then  he 
sighed  too. 

"  My  dear,"  said  she,  sweetly,  "fetch  out  your 
viol  da  gambo,  and  we  will  sing  a  hymn  or  two 
together  here  this  fine  afternoon.  We  can  praise 
God  together,  though  we  must  pray  apart ;  alas 
that  it  is  so." 

1 '  With  all  my  heart, "  said  Griffith.     ' '  Nay,  I , 
forgot ;  my  viol  da  gambo  is  not  here.     'Tis  at 
the  'Red  Lion.'" 

"At  the  'Red  Lion!'"  said  she,  bitterly. 
"What,  do  you  sing  there  as  well  as  drink? 
Oh,  husband,  how  can  you  so  bemean  yourself?" 

"  What  is  a  poor  man  to  do  whose  wife  is 
priest-ridden,  and  got  to  be  no  company — except 
for  angels  ?" 

"1  did  not  come  here  to  quarrel,"  said  she, 
coldly  and  sadly.  Then  they  were  both  silent  a 
minute.     Then  she  got  up  and  left  him. 

Brother  Leonard,  like  many  earnest  men,  wrs 
rather  intolerant.  He  urged  on  Mrs.  Gaunt  that 
she  had  too  many  Protestants  in  her  household  ; 
her  cook  and  her  nursemaid  ought,  at  all  events, 
to  be  Catholics.  Mrs.  Gaunt,  on  this,  was  quite 
ready  to  turn  them  both  off,  and  that  without 
disguise.  But  Leonard  dissuaded  her  from  so 
violent  a  measure.  She  had  better  take  occa- 
sion to  part  with  one  of  them,  and  by-and-by 
with  the  other. 

The  nursemaid  was  the  first  to  go,  and  her 
place  was  filled  by  a  Roman  Catholic.  Then 
the  cook  received  warning.  But  this  did  not 
pass  off  so  quietly :  Jane  Bannister  was  a  bux- 
om, hearty  woman,  well  liked  by  her  fellow-serv- 
ants ;  her  parents  lived  in  the  village,  and  she 
had  been  six  years  with  the  Gaunts,  and  her 
honest  heart  clung  to  them.  She  took  to  cry- 
ing ;  used  to  burst  out  in  the  middle  of  her 
work,  or  while  conversing  with  fitful  cheerful- 
ness on  ordinary  topics. 

One  day  Griffith  found  her  crying,  and  Ryder 
consoling  her  as  carelessly  and  contemptuously 
as  possible. 

"Hey-day,  lasses,"  said  he,  "what  is  your 
trouble?" 


62 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


At  this  Jane's  tears  flowed  in  a  stream,  and 
Ryder  made  no  reply,  but  waited. 

*At  last,  and  not  till  the  third  or  fourth  time 
of  asking,  Jane  blurted  out  that  she  had  got  the 
sack.  Such  was  her  homely  expression,  digni- 
fied, however,  by  honest  tears. 

"  What  for?"  asked  Griffith,  kindly. 

"Nay,  sir,"  sobbed  Jane,  "  that  is  what  I  want 
to  know.  Our  dame  ne'er  found  a  fault  in  me ; 
and  now  she  does  pack  me  off  like  a  dog — me, 
that  have  been  here  this  six  years,  and  got  to 
feel  at  home.  What  will  father  say  ?  He'll  give 
me  a  hiding.  For  two  pins  I'd  drown  myself  in 
the  mere." 

' '  Come,  you  must  not  blame  the  mistress, " 
said  the  sly  Ryder.  "  She  is  a  good  mistress  as 
ever  breathed ;  'tis  all  the  priest's  doings.  I'll 
tell  you  the  truth,  master,  if  you  will  pass  me 
your  word  I  sha'n't  be  sent  away  for  it." 

"  I  pledge  you  my  word  as  a  gentleman,"  said 
Griffith. 

"Well,  then,  sir,  Jane's  fault  is  yours  and 
mine.  She  is  not  a  Papist,  and  that  is  why  she 
is  to  go.  How  I  come  to  know,  I  listened  in  the 
next  room,  and  heard  the  priest  tell  our  dame  she 
must  send  away  two  of  us,  and  have  Catholics. 
The  priest's  word  it  is  law  in  this  house ;  'twas 
in  March  he  gave  the  order ;  Harriet,  she  went 
in  May,  and  now  poor  Jane  is  to  go — for  Avalk- 
ing  to  church  behind  you,  sir.  But  there,  Jane, 
I  believe  he  would  get  our  very  master  out  of  the 
house  if  he  could,  and  then  what  would  become 
of  us  all?" 

i  Griffith  turned  black,  and  then  ashy  pale,  un- 
der this  venomous  tongue,  and  went  away  with- 
out a  word,  looking  dangerous. 

Ryder  looked  after  him,  and  her  black  eye 
glittered  with  a  kind  of  fiendish  beauty. 

Jane,  having  told  her  mind,  now  began  to 
pluck  up  a  little  spirit.  "  Mrs.  Ryder,"  said  she, 
"I  never  thought  to  like  you  so  well;"  and, 
with  that,  gave  her  a  great,  hearty,  smacking 
kiss,  which  Ryder,  to  judge  by  her  countenance, 
relished,  as  epicures  albumen.  "I  won't  cry  no 
more.  After  all,  this  house  is  no  place  for  us 
that  be  women ;  'tis  a  fine  roost,  to  be  sure ! 
where  the  hen  she  crows,  and  the  cock  do  but 
cluck. " 

Town-bred  Ryder  laughed  at  the  rustic  maid's 
simile,  and,  not  to  be  outdone  in  metaphor,  told 
her  there  were  dogs  that  barked  and  dogs  that 
bit.  "Our  master  is  one  of  those  that  bite.  I've 
done  the  priest's  business.  He  is  as  like  to  get 
the  sack  as  you  are." 

Griffith  found  his  wife  seated  on  the  lawn  read- 
ing. He  gulped  down  his  ire  as  well  as  he  could, 
but,  nevertheless,  his  voice  trembled  a  little  with 
suppressed  passion. 

"  So  Jane  is  turned  off  now, "  said  he. 

"I  don't  know  about  being  turned  off,"  re- 
plied Mrs.  Gaunt,  calmly,  "but  she  leaves  me 
next  month,  and  Cicely  Davis  comes  back." 

"And  Cicely  Davis  is  a  useless  slut  that  can 
not  boil  a  potato  fit  to  eat ;  but  then  she  is  a  Pa- 
pist, and  poor  Jenny  is  a  Protestant,  and  can 
cook  a  dinner." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  "do  not  you 
trouble  about  the  servants ;  leave  them  to  me." 

"And  welcome ;  but  this  is  not  your  doing,  it 
is  that  Leonard's  ;  and  I  can  not  allow  a  Popish 
priest  to  turn  off  all  my  servants  that  are  worth 


their  salt.  Come,  Kate,  you  used  to  be  a  sensi- 
ble woman  and  a  tender  Avife ;  now  I  ask  you,  is 
a  young  bachelor  a  fit  person  to  govern  a  man's 
family  ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  laughed  in  his  face.  ' '  A  young 
bachelor!"  said  she;  "whoever  heard  of  such 
a  term  applied  to  a  priest — and  a  saint  upon 
earth  ?" 

"Why,  he  is  not  married,  so  he  must  be  a 
bachelor ;  and  I  say  again  it  is  monstrous  for  a 
young  bachelor  to  come  between  old  married 
folk,  and  hear  all  their  secrets,  and  have  a  finger 
in  every  pie,  and  set  up  to  be  master  of  my 
house,  and  order  my  wife  to  turn  away  my  serv- 
ants for  going  to  church  behind  me.  Why  not 
turn  me  away  too?     Their  fault  is  mine." 

' '  Griffith,  you  are  in  a  passion,  and  I  begin  to 
think  you  want  to  put  me  in  one. " 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  am.  Job's  patience  went  at 
last,  and  mine  has  been  sore  tried  this  many  a 
month.  'Twas  bad  enough  when  the  man  was 
only  your  confessor :  you  told  him  every  thing, 
and  you  don't  tell  me  every  thing.  lie  knew 
your  very  heart  better  than  I  do,  and  that  was  a 
bitter  thing  for  me  to  bear,  that  love  you  and 
have  no  secrets  from  you.  But  every  man  who 
marries  a  Catholic  must  endure  this ;  so  I  put  a 
good  face  on  it,  though  my  heart  was  often  sore ; 
'twas  the  price  I  had  to  pay  for  my  pearl  of  wom- 
ankind. But  since  he  set  up  your  governor  as 
well,  you  are  a  changed  woman  ;  you  shun  com- 
pany abroad,  you  freeze  my  friends  at  home. 
You  have  made  the  house  so  cold  that  I  am  fain 
to  seek  the  '  Red  Lion'  for  a  smile  or  a  kindly 
word ;  and  now,  to  please  this  fanatical  priest, 
you  would  turn  away  the  best  servants  I  have, 
and  put  useless,  dirty  slatterns  in  their  place, 
that  happen  to  be  Papists.  You  did  not  use  to 
be  so  uncharitable  nor  so  unreasonable.  'Tis  the 
priest's  doing.  He  is  my  secret,  underhand  en- 
emy ;  I  feel  him  undermining  me,  inch  by  inch, 
and  I  can  bear  it  no  longer.  I  must  make  a 
stand  somewhere,  and  I  may  as  well  make  it 
here  ;  for  Jenny  is  a  good  girl,  and  her  folk  live 
in  the  village,  and  she  helps  them.  Think  bet- 
ter of  it,  Kate,  and  let  the  poor  wench  stay, 
though  she  does  go  to  church  behind  your  hus- 
band." 

"  Griffith,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  "I  might  retort, 
and  say  that  you  are  a  changed  man ;  for,  to  be 
sure,  you  did  never  use  to  interfere  between  me 
and  my  maids.  Are  you  sure  some  mischief- 
making  woman  is  not  advising  you  ?  But  there, 
do  not  let  us  chafe  one  another,  for  you  know  we 
are  hot-tempered,  both  of  us.  Well,  leave  it  for 
the  present,  my  dear ;  prithee  let  me  think  it 
over  till  to-morrow,  at  all  events,  and  try  if  I 
can  satisfy  you." 

The  jealous  husband  saw  through  this  propo- 
sal directly.  He  turned  purple.  "That  is  to 
say,  you  must  ask  your  priest  first  for  leave  to 
show  your  husband  one  grain  of  respect  and  af- 
fection, and  not  make  him  quite  a  cipher  in  his 
own  house.  No,  Kate,  no  man  who  respects  him- 
self will  let  another  man  come  between  himself 
and  the  wife  of  his  bosom.  This  business  is  be- 
tween you  and  me ;  I  will  brook  no  interference 
in  it ;  and  I  tell  you  plainly,  if  you  turn  this 
poor  lass  off  to  please  this  d— d  priest,  I'll  turn 
the  priest  off  to  please  her  and  her  folk.  They 
are  as  good  as  he  is,  any  way." 

The  bitter  contempt  with  which  he  spoke  of 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


G3 


Brother  Leonard,  and  this  astounding  threat,  im- 
ported a  new  and  dangerous  element  into  the 
discussion :  it  stung  Mrs.  Gaunt  beyond  bear- 
ing. She  turned  with  flashing  eyes  upon  Grif- 
fith. 

"As  good  as  he  is  ?  The  scum  of  my  kitchen ! 
You  will  make  me  hate  the  mischief  -  making 
hussy.  She  shall  pack  out  of  the  house  to-mor- 
row morning." 

"Then  I  say  that  priest  shall  never  darken 
my  doors  again. " 

"Then  I  say  they  are  my  doors,  not  yours; 
and  that  holy  man  shall  brighten  them  whenever 
he  will." 

If  to  strike  an  adversary  dumb  is  the  tongue's 
triumph,  Mrs.  Gaunt  was  victorious ;  for  Griffith 
gasped,  but  did  not  reply. 

They  faced  each  other,  pale  with  fury,  but  no 
more  Avords. 

No  ;  an  ominous  silence  succeeded  this  la- 
mentable answer,  like  the  silence  that  follows  a 
thunder-clap. 

Griffith  stood  still  a  while,  benumbed,  as  it 
were,  by  the  cruel  stroke ;  then  cast  one  speak- 
ing look  of  anguish  and  reproach  upon  her,  drew 
himself  haughtily  up,  and  stalked  away  like  a 
wounded  lion. 

Well  said  the  ancients  that  anger  is  a  short 
madness.  When  we  reflect  in  cold  blood  on  the 
things  we  have  said  in  hot,  how  impossible  they 
seem !  how  out  of  character  with  our  real  selves  ! 
And  this  is  one  of  the  recognized  symptoms  of 
mania. 

There  were  few  persons  could  compare  with 
Mrs.  Gaunt  in  native  magnanimity,  yet  how  un- 
generous a  stab  had  she  given. 

And  had  he  gone  on,  she  would  have  gone  on; 
but  when  he  turned  silent  at  her  bitter  thrust, 
and  stalked  away  from  her,  she  came  to  herself 
almost  directly. 

She  thought,  "Good  God!  what  have  I  said 
to  him  ?" 

And  the  flush  of  shame  came  to  her  cheek,  and 
her  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

He  saw  them  not ;  he  had  gone  away,  wound- 
ed to  the  heart. 

You  see  it  was  true.  The  house  was  hei's,  tied 
up  as  tight  as  wax.  The  very  money  (his  own 
money)  that  had  been  spent  on  the  place  had  be- 
come hers  by  being  expended  on  real  property ; 
he  could  not  reclaim  it ;  he  was  her  lodger — a 
dependent  on  her  bounty. 

During  all  the  years  they  had  lived  together 
she  had  never  once  assumed  the  proprietor.  On 
the  contrary,  she  put  him  forward  as  the  squire, 
and  slipped  quietly  into  the  background.  Bene 
Intuit.  But,  lo !  let  a  hand  be  put  out  to  offend 
her  saintly  favorite,  and  that  moment  she  could 
waken  her  husband  from  his  dream,  and  put  him 
down  into  his  true  legal  position  with  a  word. 
The  matrimonial  throne  for  him  till  he  resisted 
her  priest,  and  then  a  stool  at  her  feet  and  his. 

He  was  enraged  as  well  as  hurt ;  but,  being  a 
true  lover,  his  fury  was  leveled,  not  at  the  woman 
who  had  hurt  him,  but  at  the  man  who  stood  out 
of  sight  and  set  her  on. 

i  By  this  time  the  reader. knows  his  good  quali- 
ties and  his  defects ;  superior  to  his  wife  in  one 
or  two  things,  he  was  by  no  means  so  thorough  a 
gentleman  as  she  was  a  lady.  He  had  begun  to 
make  a  party  with  his  own  servants  against  the 


common  enemy,  and,  in  his  wrath,  he  now  took 
another  step,  or  rather  a  stride,  in  the  same  di- 
rection. As  he  hurried  away  to  the  public  house, 
white  with  ire,  he  met  his  gamekeeper  coming  in 
with  a  bucketful  offish  fresh  caught.  "What 
have  ye  got  there  ?"  said  Griffith,  roughly  ;  not 
that  he  was  angry  with  the  man,  but  that  his 
very  skin  was  full  of  wrath,  and  it  must  exude. 
Mr.  Leicester  did  not  relish  the  tone,  and  replied, 
bluntly  and  sulkily, ' '  Pike  for  our  Papists. "  The 
answer,  though  rude,  did  not  altogether  displease 
Griffith  ;  it  smacked  of  odium  theologicum,  a  sen- 
timent he  was  learning  to  understand.  "Put 
'em  down,  and  listen  to  me,  Thomas  Leicester," 
said  he.  And  his  manner  was  now  so  impress- 
ive that  Leicester  put  down  the  bucket  with  lu- 
dicrous expedition,  and  gaped  at  him. 

" Now,  my  man,  why  do  I  keep  you  here?" 

"  To  take  care  of  your  game,  squire,  I  do  sup- 
pose." 

"  What !  when  you  are  the  worst  gamekeeper 
in  the  county?  How  many  poachers  do  you 
catch  in  the  year  ?  They  have  only  to  set  one  of 
their  gang  to  treat  you  at  the  public  house  on  a 
moonshiny  night,  and  the  rest  can  have  all  my 
pheasants  at  roost  while  you  ar.e  boozing  and 
singing." 

"Like  my  betters  in  the  parlor,"  muttered 
Tom. 

"But  that  is  not  all,"  continued  Gaunt,  pre- 
tending not  to  hear  him.  "You  wire  my  rab- 
bits, and  sell  them  in  the  town.  Don't  go  to 
deny  it,  for  I've  half  a  dozen  to  prove  it."  Mr. 
Leicester  looked  very  uncomfortable.  His  mas- 
ter continued — "I  have  known  it  this  ten  months, 
yet  you  are  none  the  worse  for't.  Now,  why  do 
I  keep  you  here,  that  any  other  gentleman  in  my 
place  would  send  to  Carlisle  jail  on  a  justice's 
warrant  ?" 

Mr.  Leicester,  who  had  thought  his  master 
blind,  and  was  so  suddenly  undeceived,  hung  his 
head  and  sniveled  out,  "  'Tis  because  you  have  a 
good  heart,  squire,  and  would  not  ruin  a  poor 
fellow  for  an  odd  rabbit  or  two." 

' '  Stuff  and  nonsense ! "  cried  Gaunt.  ' '  Speak 
your  mind  for  once,  or  else  begone  for  a  liar  as 
well  as  a  knave." 

Thus  appealed  to,  Leicester's  gipsy  eyes  roved 
to  and  fro  as  if  he  were  looking  for  some  loop- 
hole to  escape  by ;  but  at  last  he  faced  the  situ- 
ation. He  said,  with  a  touch  of  genuine  feeling, 
' '  D — n  the  rabbits !  I  wish  my  hand  had  with- 
ered ere  I  touched  one  on  them."  But  after 
this  preface  he  sunk  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and 
said,  "I  see  what  you  are  driving  at,  squire; 
and,  since  there  is  nobody  with  us  (he  took  off 
his  cap) — why,  sir,  'tis  this  here  mole  I  am  in 
debt  to,  no  doubt. " 

Then  the  gentleman  and  his  servant  looked 
one  another  silently  in  the  face,  and  what  with 
their  standing  in  the  same  attitude  and  being 
both  excited  and  earnest,  the  truth  must  be  own- 
ed, a  certain  family  likeness  came  out.  Certain- 
ly their  eyes  were  quite  unlike.  Leicester  had 
his  gipsy  mother's  —  black,  keen,  and  restless. 
Gaunt  had  his  mother's  —  brown,  calm,  and 
steady.  But  the  two  men  had  the  same  stature, 
the  same  manly  mould  and  square  shoulders; 
and,  though  Leicester's  cheek  was  brown  as  a 
berry,  his  forehead  was  singularly  white  for  a 
man  in  his  rank  of  life,  and  over  his  left  temple, 
close  to:  the  roots  of  the  hair,  was  an  oblong 


64 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


mole  as  black  as  ink,  that  bore  a  close  resem- 
blance in  appearance  and  position  to  his  mas- 
ter's. 

"  Tom  Leicester,  I  have  been  insulted." 

"That  won't  pass,  sir.     Who  is  the  man ?" 

"  One  that  I  can  not  call  out  like  a  gentleman, 
and  yet  I  must  not  lay  on  him  with  my  cane,  or 
I  am  like  to  get  the  sack  as  well  as  my  servants. 
Tis  the  Popish  priest,  lad ;  Brother  Leonard, 
own  brother  to  Old  Nick ;  he  has  got  our  dame's 
ear — she  can  not  say  him  '  nay. '  She  is  turning 
away  all  my  people,  and  filling  the  house  with 
Papists,  to  please  him.  And  when  I  interfered, 
she  as  good  as  told  me  I  should  go  next ;  and  so 
I  shall,  I  or  else  that  priest." 

This  little  piece  of  exaggeration  fired  Tom 
Leicester.  "5Jay  ye  so,  squire?  then  just  you 
whisper  a  word  in  my  ear,  and  George  and  I  will 
lay  that  priest  by  the  heels,  and  drag  him  through 
the  horse-pond.  He  won't  come  here  to  trouble 
you  after  that, /know." 

Gaunt 's  eyes  flashed  triumph.  "  A  friend  in 
need  is  a  friend  indeed,"  said  he.  "Ay,  you  are 
right,  lad.  There  must  be  no  broken  bones,  and 
no  bloodshed ;  .the  horse-pond  is  the- very  thing ; 
and  if  she  discharges  you  for  it,  take  no  heed  of 
her.  You  shall  never  leave  Hemshaw  Castle  for 
that  good  deed,  or,  if  you  do,  I'll  go  with  you  ; 
for  the  world  it  is  wide,  and  I'll  never  live  a 
servant  in  the  house  where  I  have  been  a  master. " 

They  then  put  their  heads  together  and  con- 
certed the  means  by  Avhich  the  priest  at  his  very 
next  visit  was  to  be  decoyed  into  the  neighbor- 
hood of  the  horse-pond. 

And  then  they  parted,  and  Griffith  went  to  the 
"  Red  Lion."  And  a  pair  of  black  eyes,  that  had 
slyly  watched  this  singular  interview  from  an 
upper  window,  withdrew  quietly  ;  and  soon  after, 
Tom  Leicester  found  himself  face  to  face  with 
their  owner,  the  sight  of  whom  always  made  his 
heart  beat  a  little  faster. 

Caroline  Ryder  had  been  rather  cold  to  him  of 
late ;  it  was  therefore  a  charming  surprise  when 
she  met  him,  all  wreathed  in  smiles,  and,  draw- 
ing him  apart,  began  to  treat  him  like  a  bosom 
friend,  and  tell  him  what  had  passed  between 
the  master,  and  her  and  Jane.  Confidence  be- 
gets confidence ;  and  so  Tom  told  her  in  turn 
that  the  squire  and  the  dame  had  come  to  words 
over  it.  "However,"  said  he,  "'tis  all  the 
priest's  fault ;  but  bide  a  while,  all  of  ye. " 

With  this  mysterious  hint  he  meant  to  close  his 
revelations.  But  Ryder  intended  nothing  of  the 
kind.  Her  keen  eye  had  read  the  looks  and 
gestures  of  Gaunt  and  Leicester,  and  these  had 
shown  her  that  something  very  strange  and  se- 
rious was  going  on.  She  had  come  out  express- 
ly to  learn  what  it  Avas,  and  Tom  was  no  match 
for  her  arts.  She  so  smiled  on  him,  and  agreed 
with  him,  and  led  him,  and  drew  him,  and  pump- 
ed him,  that  she  got  it  all  out  of  him  on  a  prom- 
ise of  secrecy.  She  then  entered  into  it  with  spir- 
it, and  being  what  they  called  a  scholar,  under- 
took to  write  a  paper  for  Tom  and  his  helper  to 
pin  on  the  priest's  back.  No  sooner  said  than 
done.  She  left  him,  and  speedily  returned  with 
the  following  document  written  out  in  large  and 
somewhat  straggling  letters  : 

"Honest  Folk,  behold  a 
Mischievious  Priest,  which 


For  causing  of  strife 
'twixt  man  and  wyfe 
Hath  made  acquaintaunce 
With  Squire's  horse-pond." 

And  so  a  female  conspirator  was  added  to  the 
plot. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  co-operated  too,  but,  need  I  say, 
unconsciously. 

She  was  unhappy,  and  full  of  regret  at  what 
she  had  said.  She  took  herself  severely  to  task, 
and  drew  a  very  unfavorable  comparison  between 
herself  and  Brother  Leonard.  "How  ill,"  she 
thought,  "am  I  fitted  to  carry  out  that  meek 
saint's  views.  See  what  my  ungoverned  temper 
has  done. "  So,  then,  having  made  so  great  a 
mistake,  she  thought  the  best  thing  she  could  do 
was  to  seek  advice  of  Leonard  at  once.  She  was 
not  without  hopes  he  would  tell  her  to  postpone 
the  projected  change  in  her  household,  and  so 
soothe  her  offended  husband  directly. 

She  wrote  a  line  requesting  Leonard  to  call 
on  her  as  soon  as  possible,  and  advise  her  in  a 
great  difficulty ;  and  she  gave  this  note  to  Ry- 
der, and  told  her  to  send  the  groom  off  with  it 
at  once. 

Ryder  squeezed  the  letter,  and  peered  into  it, 
and  gathered  its  nature  before  she  gave  it  to  the 
groom  to  take  to  Leonard. 

When  he  was  gone  she  went  and  told  Tom 
Leicester,  and  he  chuckled,  and  made  his  prep- 
arations accordingly. 

Then  she  retired  to  her  own  room,  and  went 
through  a  certain  process  I  have  indicated  before 
as  one  of  her  habits — knitted  her  great  black 
brows,  and  pondered  the  whole  situation  with  a 
mental  power  that  was  worthy  of  a  nobler  sphere 
and  higher  materials. 

Her  practical  reverie,  so  to  speak,  continued 
until  she  was  rung  for  to  dress  her  mistress  for 
dinner. 

Griffith  was  so  upset,  so  agitated  and  restless, 
he  could  not  stay  long  in  any  one  place,  not  even 
in  the  "Red  Lion."  So  he  came  home  to  din- 
ner, though  he  had  mighty  little  appetite  for  it ; 
and  this  led  to  another  little  conjugal  scene. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  mounted  the  great  oak  staircase 
to  dress  for  dinner,  languidly,  as  ladies  are  apt 
to  do  when  reflection  and  regret  come  after  ex- 
citement. 

Presently  she  heard  a  quick  foot  behind  her : 
she  knew  it  directly  for  her  husband's,  and  her 
heart  yearned.  She  did  not  stop,  nor  turn  her 
head :  womanly  pride  withheld  her  from  direct 
submission  ;  but  womanly  tenderness  and  tact 
opened  a  way  to  reconciliation.  She  drew  softly 
aside,  almost  to  the  Avail,  and  Avent  sloAArer ;  and 
her  hand,  her  sidelong  drooping  head,  and  her 
Avhole  eloquent  person,  Avhispered  plainly  enough, 
"  If  somebody  Avould  like  to  make  friends,  here 
is  the  door  open." 

Griffith  saAv,  but  Avas  too  deeply  Avounded  :  he 
passed  her  without  stopping  (the  staircase  was 
eight  feet  broad). 

But  as  he  passed  he  looked  at  her  and  sighed, 
for  he  saw  she  Avas  sorry. 

She  heard,  and  sighed  too.  Poor  things,  they 
had  lived  so  happy  together  for  years. 

He  Avent  on. 

Her  pride  bent:  "Griffith!"  said  she,  very 
timidly.     He  turned  and  stopped  at  that. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


65 


"Sweetheart,"  she  murmured,  "I  was  to 
blame.  I  was  ungenerous.  I  forgot  myself.  Let 
me  recall  my  words.  You  know  they  did  not 
come  from  my  heart." 

"You  need  not  tell  me  that,"  said  Griffith, 
doggedly.  "I  have  no  quarrel  with  you,  and 
never  will.  You  but  do  what  you  are  bidden, 
and  say  what  you  are  bidden.  1  take  the  wound 
from  you  as  best  I  may :  the  man  that  set  you 
on,  'tis  him  I'll  be  revenged  on." 

"Alas!  that  you  will  think  so,"  said  she. 
"Believe  me,  dearest,  that  holy  man  would  be 
the  first  to  rebuke  me  for  rebelling  against  my 
husband  and  flouting  him.  Oh,  how  could  I  say 
such  things  ?  I  thank  you,  and  love  you  dearly 
for  being  so  blind  to  my  faults ;  but  I  must  not 
abuse  your  blindness.  Father  Leonard  will  put 
me  to  penance  for  the  fault  you  forgive.  He  will 
hear  no  excuses.  Prithee,  now,  be  more  just  to 
that  good  man. " 

Griffith  listened  quietly,  with  a  cold  sneer  upon 
his  lip  ;  and  this  was  his  reply :  "Till  that  mis- 
chief-making villain  came  between  you  and  me, 
you  never  gave  me  a  bitter  word :  we  were  the 
happiest  pair  in  Cumberland.  But  now  what 
are  we  ?    And  what  shall  we  be  in  another  year 

01*  tWO  ? REVENGE  !  !" 

He  had  begun  gravely  enough,  but  suddenly 
burst  into  an  ungovernable  rage  ;  and  as  he 
yelled  out  that  furious  word,  his  face  was  con- 
vulsed and  ugly  to  look  at — very  ugly. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  started :  she  had  not  seen  that  vile 
expression  in  his  face  for  many  a  year ;  but  she 
knew  it  again. 

"Ay!"  he  cried,  "he  has  made  me  drink  a 
bitter  cup  this  many  a  day.  But  I'll  force  as 
bitter  a  one  down  his  throat,  and  you  shall  see  it 
done." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  turned  pale  at  this  violent  threat ; 
but,  being  a  high-spirited  woman,  she  stiffened 
and  hid  her  apprehensions  loftily.  "  Madman 
that  you  are,"  said  she,  "I  throw  away  excuses 
on  Jealousy,  and  I  waste  reason  upon  phrenzy. 
I'll  say  no  more  things  to  provoke  you ;  but,  to 
be  sure,  'tis  I  that  am  offended  now,  and  deeply 
too,  as  you  will  find. " 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Griffith,  sullenly ;  then,  grind- 
ing his  teeth,  "he  shall  pay  for  that  too." 

Then  he  went  to  his  dressing-room,  and  she  to 
her  bedroom — Griffith  hating  Leonard,  and  Kate 
deeply  indignant  with  Griffith. 

And,  ere  her  blood  could  cool,  she  was  sub- 
jected to  the  keen,  cold  scrutiny  of  another  fe- 
male, and  that  female  a  secret  rival. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Would  you  learn  what  men  gain  by  admitting 
a  member  of  the  fair  sex  into  their  conspiracies  ? 
read  the  tragedy  of  Venice  Preserved;  and,  by 
way  of  afterpiece,  this  little  chapter. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  sat  pale  and  very  silent,  and  Caro- 
line Ryder  stood  behind,  doing  up  her  hair  into 
a  magnificent  structure  that  added  eight  inches 
to  the  lady's  height,  and  in  this  operation  her 
own  black  hair  and  keen  black  eyes  came  close 
to  the  gOlden  hair  and  deep  blue  eyes,  now  troub- 
led, and  made  a  picture  striking  by  contrast. 

As  she  was  putting  the  finishing  touches,  she 
said  quietly,  "  If  you  please,  dame,  I  have  some- 
what to  tell  you." 


Mrs.  Gaunt  sighed  wearily,  expecting  some 
very  minute  communication. 

"  Well,  dame,  I  dare  say  I  am  risking  my 
place,  but  I  can't  help  it." 

"Another  time,  Ryder,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
"  I  am  in  no  humor  to  be  worried  with  my  serv- 
ants' squabbles." 

"Nay,  madam,  'tis  not  that  at  all — 'tis  about 
Father  Leonard.  Sure  you  would  not  like  him 
to  be  drawn  through  the  horse-pond,  and  that 
is  what  they  mean  to  do  next  time  he  comes 
here." 

In  saying  these  words,  the  jade  contrived  to 
be  adjusting  Mrs.  Gaunt's  dress.  The  lady's 
heart  gave  a  leap,  and  the  servant's  cunning 
finger  felt  it,  and  then  felt  a  shudder  run  all  over 
that  stately  frame.  But  after  that  Mrs.  Gaunt 
seemed  to  turn  to  steel.  She  distrusted.  Ryder, 
she  could  not  tell  why ;  distrusted  her,  and  was 
upon  her  guard. 

"You  must  be  mistaken,"  said  she.  "Who 
would  dare  to  lay  hands  on  a  priest  in  my 
house  ?" 

"Well,  dame,  you  see  they  egg  one  another 
on.  Don't  ask  me  to  betray  my  fellow-servants, 
but  let  us  balk  them.  I  don't  deceive  you, 
dame ;  if  the  good  priest  shows  his  face  here,  he 
will  be  thrown  into  the  horse-pond,  and  sent 
home  with  a  ticket  pinned  to  his  back.  Them 
that  is  to  do  it  are  on  the  watch  now,  and  have 
got  their  orders  ;  and  'tis  a  burning  shame.  To 
be  sure  I  am  not  a  Catholic;  but  religion  is 
religion,  and  a  more  heavenly  face  I  never  saw ; 
and  for  it  to  be  dragged  through  a  filthy  horse- 
pond  !" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  clutched  her  inspector's  «arm  and 
turned  pale.  "The  villains!  the  fiends  I"  she 
gasped.  "Go  ask  your  master  to  come  to  me 
this  moment." 

Ryder  took  a  step  or  two,  then  stopped. 
"  Aiack,  dame,"  said  she,  "  that  is  not  the  way 
to  do.  You  may  be  sure  the  others  would  not 
dare  if  my  master  had  not  shown  them  his 
mind." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  stopped  her  ears.  "Don't  tell 
me  that  he  has  ordered  this  impious,  cruel, 
cowardly  act.  He  is  a  lion,,  and  this  comes 
from  the  heart  of  cowardly  curs.  What  is  to  be 
done,  woman  ?  Tell  me,  for  you  are  cooler  than 
I  am." 

"  Well,  dame,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  I'd  just 
send  him  a  line,  and  bid  him  stay  away  till  the 
storm  blows  overt" 

"You  are  right.  But  who  is  to  carry  it? 
My  own  servants  are  traitors  to  me." 

"  I'll  cany  it  myself." 

"You  shall.  Put  on  your  hat,  and  run 
through  the  wood  ;  that  is  the  shortest  way. " 

She  wrote  a  few  lines  on  a  large  sheet  of 
paper,  for  note-paper  there  was  none  in  those 
days  ;  sealed  it,  and  gave  it  to  Ryder. 

Ryder  retired  to  put  on  her  hat,  and  pry  into 
the  letter  with  greedy  eyes. 

It  ran  thus : 

"Dear  Father  and  Friend, — You  must 
come  hither  no  more  at  present.  Ask  the  bear- 
er why  this  is,  for  I  am  ashamed  to  put  it  on 
paper.  Pray  for  them  ;  for  you  can,  but  I  can 
not.  Pray  for  me  too,  bereft  for  a  time  of  your 
counsels,  I  shall  come  and  confess  to  you  in  a 
few  days,  when  we  are  cooler,  but  you  shall 


G6 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


honor  his  house  no  more.  Obey  me  in  this  one 
thing,  who  shall  obey  you  in  all  tilings  else,  and 
am  your  indignant  and  sorrowful  daughter, 

"Catharine  Gaunt." 

"No  more  than  that?"  said  Ryder.  "Ay, 
she  guessed  as  I  should  look. " 

She  whipped  on  her  hat  and  went  out. 

Who  should  she  meet,  or,  I  might  say,  run 
against  at  the  hall  door  but  Father  Leonard. 

He  had  come  at  once  in  compliance  with  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  request. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Mrs.  Ryder  uttered  a  little  scream  of  dis- 
may. The  priest  smiled,  and  said  sweetly,  ' '  For- 
give me,  mistress,  I  fear  I  startled  you." 

"Indeed  you  did,  sir,"  said  she.  She  looked 
furtively  round,  and  saw  Leicester  and  his  un- 
derling on  the  watch. 

Leicester,  unaware  of  her  treachery,  made  her 
a  signal  of  intelligence. 

She  responded  to  it,  to  gain  time. 

It  was  a  ticklish  situation.  Some  would  have 
lost  their  heads.  Ryder  was  alarmed,  but  all 
the  more  able  to  defend  her  plans.  Her  first 
move,  as  usual  with  such  women,  was — a  lie. 

"Our  dame  is  in  the  Grove,  sir,"  said  she. 
"  I  am  to  bring  you  to  her." 

The  priest  bowed  his  head  gravely,  and  moved 
toward  the  Grove  with  downcast  eyes.  Ryder 
kept  close  to  him  for  a  few  steps ;  then  she  ran 
to  Leicester,  and  whispered  hastily,  "  Go  you  to 
the  stable-gate ;  I'll  bring  him  round  that  way  : 
hide  now ;  he  suspects." 

"Ay,  ay,"  said  Leicester;  and  the  confiding 
pair  slipped  away  round  a  corner  to  wait  for 
their  victim. 

Ryder  hurried  him  into  the  Grove,  and,  as 
soon  as  she  had  got  him  out  of  hearing,  told  him 
the  truth. 

He  turned  pale ;  for  these  delicate  organiza- 
tions do  not  generally  excel  in  courage. 

Ryder  pitied  him,  and  something  of  womanly 
feeling  began  to  mingle  with  her  plans.  "  They 
shall  not  lay  a  finger  on  you,  sir,"  said  she. 
"  I'll  scratch  and  scream,  and  bring  the  whole 
parish  out  sooner;  but  the  best  way  is  not  to 
give  them  the  chance:  please  you  follow  me." 
And  she  hurried  him  through  the  Grove,  and 
then  into  an  unfrequented  path  of  the  great 
wood. 

When  they  were  safe  from  pursuit  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him.  He  was  a  good  deal  agi- 
tated, but  the  uppermost  sentiment  was  grati- 
tude. It  soon  found  words,  and,  as  usual,  hap- 
py ones.  He  thanked  her  with  dignity  and  ten- 
derness for  the  service  she  had  done  him,  and 
asked  her  if  she  was  a  Catholic. 

"No,"  said  she. 

At  that  his  countenance  fell,  but  only  for  a 
moment.  "Ah!  would  you  were,"  he  said, 
earnestly.  He  then  added,  sweetly,  "To  be 
sure  I  have  all  the  more  reason  to  be  grateful  to 
you." 

"You  are  very  welcome,  reverend  sir,"  said 
Ryder,  graciously.  "Religion  is  religion;  and 
'tis  a  barbarous  thing  that  violence  should  be 
done  to  men  of  your  cloth. " 

Having  thus  Avon  his  heart,  the  artful  woman 


began  at  one  and  the  same  time  to  please  and  to 
probe  him.  "  Sir, "  said  she,  "  be  of  good  heart ; 
they  have  done  you  no  harm,  and  themselves  no 
good ;  my  mistress  will  hate  them  for  it,  and 
love  you  all  the  more." 

Father  Leonard's  pale  cheek  colored  all  over 
at  these  words,  though  he  said  nothing. 

"  Since  they  won't  let  you  come  to  her,  she 
will  come  to  you." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  he,  faintly. 

"  Nay,  I  am  sure  of  it,  sir.  So  would  any 
woman.  We  still  follow  our  hearts,  and  get  our 
way  by  hook  or  by  crook." 

Again  the  priest  colored  either  with  pleasure 
or  with  shame,  or  with  both  ;  and  the  keen  fem- 
inine eye  perused  him  with  microscopic  power. 
She  waited,  to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  talk- 
ing to  her  and  laying  bare  his  feelings  ;  but  he 
was  either  too  delicate,  too  cautious,  or  too  pure. 

So  then  she  suddenly  affected  to  remember  her 
mistress's  letter.  She  produced  it  with  an  apol- 
ogy. ^  He  took  it  with  unfeigned  eagerness,  and 
read  it  in  silence  ;  and,  having  read  it,  he  stood 
patient,  with  the  tears  in  his  eyes.  Ryder  eyed 
him  with  much  curiosity  and  a  little  pity.  "Don't 
you  take  on  for  that,"  said  she.  "  Why,  she  will 
be  more  at  her  ease  when  she  visits  you  at  your 
place  than  here ;  and  she  won't  give  you  up,  I 
promise." 

The  priest  trembled,  and  Ryder  saw  it. 

"  But,  my  daughter,"  said  he,  "  I  am  perplex- 
ed and  grieved.  It  seems  that  I  make  mischief 
in  your  house  ;  that  is  an  ill  office ;  I  fear  it  is 
my  duty  to  retire  from  this  place  altogether,  rath- 
er than  cause  dissension  between  those  whom  the 
Church  by  holy  sacrament  hath  bound  together. " 
So  saying,  he  hung  his  head  and  sighed. 

Ryder  eyed  him  with  a  little  pity,  but  more 
contempt. 

"Why  take  other  people's  faults  on  your 
back  ?"  said  she.  "  My  mistress  is  tied  to  a 
man  she  does  not  love ;  but  that  is  not  your 
fault ;  and  he  is  jealous  of  you,  that  never  gave 
him  cause.  If  I  was  a  man  he  should  not  ac- 
cuse me — for  nothing,  nor  set  his  man  on  to  drag 
me  through  a  horse-pond — for  nothing.  I'd  have 
the  sweet  as  well  as  the  bitter." 

Father  Leonard  turned  and  looked  at  her  with 
a  face  full  of  terror.  Some  beautiful,  honeyed 
fiend  seemed  to  be  entering  his  heart  and  tempt- 
ing it. 

"Oh,  hush!  my  daughter,  hush !"  he  said; 
' '  what  words  are  these  for  a  virtuous  woman  to 
speak  and  a  priest  to  hear  ?" 

"  There,  I  have  offended  you  by  my  blunt 
way,"  said  the  cajoling  hussy,  in  soft  and  timid 
tones. 

"  Nay,  not  so ;  but  oh,  speak  not  so  lightly  of 
things  that  peril  the  immortal  soul." 

"  Well,  I  have  done,"  said  Ryder.  "  You  are 
out  of  danger  now,  so  give  you  good-day. " 

He  stopped  her.  "What  !  before  I  have 
thanked  you  for  your  goodness  ?  Ah  !  Mistress 
Ryder,  'tis  on  these  occasions  a  priest  sins  by 
longing  for  riches  to  reward  his  benefactors.  I 
have  naught  to  offer  you  but  this  ring :  it  was 
my  mother's — my  dear  mother's. " 

He  took  it  off  his  finger  to  give  it  her. 

But  the  little  bit  of  goodness  that  cleaves  even 
to  the  heart  of  an  intriguante  revolted  against 
her  avarice. 

"Nay,  poor  soul,  I'll  not  take  it,"  said  she ; 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


G7 


and  put  her  hands  before  her  eyes,  not  to  see  it, 
for  she  knew  she  could  not  look  at  it  long  mid 
spare  it. 

With  this  she  left  him  ;  but,  ere  she  had  gone 
far,  her  cunning  and  curiosity  gained  the  upper 
hand  again,  and  she  whipped  behind  a  great  tree 
and  crouched,  invisible  all  but  her  nose  and  one 
piercing  eye. 


all  who  met  him  he  seemed  a  creature  in  whom 
religion  had  conquered  all  human  frailty. 

Caroline  Ryder  hurried  home  with  cruel  exul- 
tation in  her  black  eyes.  But  she  soon  found 
that  the  first  thing  she  had  to  do  was  to  defend 
herself.  Leicester  and  his  man  met  her,  and  the 
former  looked  gloomy,  and  the  latter  reproached 
her  bitterly ;  called  her  a  double-faced  jade,  and 


She  saw  the  priest  make  a  few  steps  home- 
ward, then  look  around,  then  take  Mrs.  Gaunt's 
letter  out  of  his  pocket,  press  it  passionately  to 
his  lips,  and  hide  it  tenderly  in  his  bosom. 

This  done,  he  went  home  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground  as  usual,  and  measured  steps.     And  to 


said  he  would  tell  the  squire  of  the  trick  she  had 
played  them.  But  Ryder  had  her  story  ready  in 
a  moment.  "  'Tis  you  I  have  saved,  not  him," 
said  she.  "  He  is  something  more  than  mortal : 
why,  he  told  me  of  his  own  accord  what  you  were 
there  for  ;  but  that,  if  you  were  so  unlucky  as  to 


C8 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


lay  hands  on  him,  you  would  rot  alive.  It  seems 
that  has  been  tried  out  Stanhope  way ;  a  man 
did  but  give  him  a  blow,  and  his  arm  was  stiff 
next  day,  and  he  never  used  it  again  ;  and  next 
his  hair  fell  off  his  head,  and  then  his  eyes  they 
turned  to  water  and  ran  all  out  of  him,  and  he 
died  within  the  twelvemonth. " 

Country  folk  were  nearly,  though  not  quite,  as 
superstitious  at  that  time  as  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
"  Murrain  on  him, "  said  Leicester.  "  Catch  me 
laying  a  finger  on  him.  I'm  glad  he  is  gone ; 
and  I  hope  he  won't  never  come  back  no  more." 

**  Not  likely,  since  he  can  read  all  our  hearts. 
Why,  he  told  me  something  about  you,  Tom  Lei- 
cester ;  he  says  you  are  in  love." 

"No!  did  he  really,  now?"  and  Leicester 
opened  his  eyes  very  wide.  "And  did  he  tell 
you  who  the  lass  is  ?" 

"He  did  so;  and  surprised  me  properly." 
This  with  a  haughty  glance. 

Leicester  held  his  tongue  and  turned  red. 

"  Who  is  it,  mistress  ?"  asked  the  helper. 

"  He  didn't  say  I  was  to  tell  you,  young  man." 

And  with  these  two  pricks  of  her  needle  she 
left  them  both  more  or  less  discomfited,  and  went 
to  scrutinize  and  anatomize  her  mistress's  heart 
with  plenty  of  cunning,  but  no  mercy.  She  re- 
lated her  own  part  in  the  affair  very  briefly,  but 
dwelt  with  well-feigned  sympathy  on  the  priest's 
feelings.  ' '  He  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  ma'am, 
when  I  told  him,  and  offered  me  his  very  ring  off' 
his  finger,  he  was  so  grateful ;  poor  man  !" 

"  You  did  not  take  it,  I  hope  ?"  said  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  quickly. 

"  La,  no,  ma'am.     I  hadn't  the  heart." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  silent  a  while.  When  she 
spoke  again  it  was  to  inquire  whether  Ryder  had 
given  him  the  letter. 

"  That  I  did ;  and  it  brought  the  tears  into 
his  poor  eyes ;  and  such  beautiful  eyes  as  he  has, 
to  be  sure !  You  would  have  pitied  him  if  you 
had  seen  him  read  it,  and  cry  over  it,  and  then 
kiss  it,  and  put  it  in  his  bosom,  he  did." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  said  nothing,  but  turned  her  head 
away. 

The  operator  shot  a  sly  glance  into  the  looking- 
glass,  and  saw  a  pearly  tear  trickling  down  her 
subject's  fair  cheek.  So  she  went  on,  all  sympa- 
thy outside,  and  remorselessness  within.  "  To 
think  of  that  face,  more  like  an  angel's  than  a 
man's,  to  be  dragged  through  a  nasty  horse-pond. 
'Tis  a  shame  of  master  to  set  his  men  on  a  cler- 
gyman." And  so  was  proceeding,  with  well-act- 
ed and  catching  warmth,  to  dig  as  dangerous  a 
pit  for  Mrs.  Gaunt  as  ever  was  dug  for  any  lady  ; 
for  whatever  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  been  betrayed  into 
saying,  this  Ryder  Avould  have  used  without  mer- 
cy, and  with  diabolical  skill. 

Yes,  it  was  a  pit,  and  the  lady's  pure  but  ten- 
der heart  pushed  her  toward  it,  and  her  fiery 
temper  drew  her  toward  it. 

Yet  she  escaped  it  this  time.  The  indignity, 
delicacy,  and  pride,  that  is  oftener  fouud  in  these 
old  families  than  out  of  them,  saved  her  from  that 
peril.  She  did  not  see  the  trap,  but  she  spumed 
the  bait  by  native  instinct. 

She  threw  up  her  hand  in  a  moment  with  a 
queenly  gesture,  and  stopped  the  tempter. 

"Not — one — word — from  my  servant  against 
my  husband  in  my  hearing!"  said  she,  superbly. 

And  Ryder  shrank  back  into  herself  directly. 

"  Child, "  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  ' '  you  have  done  me 


a  great  service,  and  my  husband  too  ;  for,  if  this 
dastardly  act  had  been  done  in  his  name,  he  would 
soon  have  been  heartily  ashamed  of  it  and  de- 
plored it.  Such  services  can  never  be  quite  re- 
paid ;  but  you  will  find  a  purse  in  that  drawer 
with  five  guineas ;  it  is  yours ;  and  my  lavender 
silk  dress,  be  pleased  to  wear  that  about  me,  to 
remind  me  of  the  good  office  you  have  done  me. 
And  now,  all  you  can  do  for  me  is  to  leave  me, 
for  I  am  very,  very  unhappy. " 

Ryder  retired  with  the  spoil,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt 
leaned  her  head  over  her  chair,  and  cried  without 
stint. 

After  this,  no  angry  words  passed  between  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Gaunt ;  but  something  worse,  a  settled 
coolness  sprung  up. 

As  for  Griffith,  his  cook  kept  her  place,  and  the 
priest  came  no  more  to  the  castle ;  so,  having 
outwardly  gained  the  day,  he  was  ready  to  forget 
and  forgive ;  but  Kate,  though  she  would  not  let 
her  servant  speak  ill  of  Griffith,  was  deeply  indig- 
nant and  disgusted  with  him.  She  met  his  ad- 
vances with  such  a  stern  coldness  that  he  turned 
sulky  and  bitter  in  his  turn. 

Husband  and  wife  saw  little  of  each  other,  and 
hardly  spoke. 

Both  were  unhappy ;  but  Kate  was  angriest, 
and  Griffith  saddest. 

In  an  evil  hour  he  let  out  his  grief  to  Caroline 
Ryder.  She  seized  the  opportunity,  and,  by  a 
show  of  affectionate  sympathy  and  zeal,  made 
herself  almost  necessary  to  him,  and  contrived  to 
establish  a  very  perilous  relation  between  him  and 
her.  Matters  went  so  far  as  this,  that  the  poor 
man's  eye  used  to  brighten  when  he  saw  her  com- 
ing. 

Yet  this  victory  cost  her  a  sore  heart  and  all 
the  patient  self-denial  of  her  sex.  To  be  welcome 
to  Griffith,  she  had  to  speak  to  him  of  her  rival, 
and  to  speak  well  of  her.  She  tried  talking  of 
herself  and  her  attachment ;  he  yawned  in  her 
face ;  she  tried  smooth  detraction  and  innuendo  ; 
he  fired  up  directly  and  defended  her,  of  whose 
conduct  he  had  been  complaining  the  very  mo- 
ment before. 

Then  she  saw  that  there  was  but  one  way  to 
the  man's  heart.  Sore,  and  sick,  and  smiling,  she 
took  that  way,  resolving  to  bide  her  time,  to  worm 
herself  in  anyhow,  and  wait  patiently  till  she 
could  venture  to  thrust  her  mistress  out. 

If  any  of  my  readers  need  be  told  why  this 
she-Machiavel  threw  her  fellow-conspirators  over, 
the  reason  was  simply  this :  on  calm  reflection, 
she  saw  it  was  not  her  interest  to  get  Father 
Leonard  insulted.  She  looked  on  him  as  her 
mistress's  lover  and  her  own  best  friend.  "  Was 
I  mad  ?"  said  she  to  herself.  "  My  business  is  to 
keep  him  sweet  upon  her  till  they  can't  livo  with- 
out one  another,  and  then  I'll  tell  Mm,  and  take 
your  place  in  this  house,  my  lady." 

And  now  it  is  time  to  visit  that  extraordinary 
man  who  was  the  cause  of  all  this  mischief;  whom 
Gaunt  called  a  villain,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  a  saint ; 
and,  as  usual,  he  was  neither  one  nor  the  other. 

Father  Leonard  was  a  pious,  pure,  and  noble- 
minded  man,  who  had  undertaken  to  defy  Nature 
with  Religion's  aid,  and,  after  years  of  successful 
warfare,  now  sustained  one  of  those  defeats  to 
which  such  warriors  have  been  liable  in  ever}'  age. 
If  his  heart  was  pure,  it  was  tender  ;  and  Nature 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


69 


never  intended  him  to  live  all  his  days  alone. 
After  years  of  prudent  coldness  to  the  other  sex, 
he  fell"  in  with  a  creature  that  put  him  off  his 
guard  at  first,  she  seemed  so  angelic.  "  At  Wis- 
dom's gate  Suspicion  slept;"  and,  by  degrees, 
which  have  been  already  indicated  in  this  narra- 
tive, she  whom  the  Church  had  committed  to  his 
spiritual  care  became  his  idol.  Could  he  have 
foreseen  this,  it  would  never  have  happened ;  he 
would  have  steeled  himself,  or  left  the  country 
that  contained  this  sweet  temptation.  But  love 
stole  on  him,  masked  with  religious  zeal,  and 
robed  in  a  garment  of  light  that  seemed  celestial. 

When  the  mask  fell  it  was  too  late ;  the  power 
to  resist  the  soft  and  thrilling  enchantment  was 
gone.     The  solitary  man  was  too  deep  in  love. 

Yet  he  clung  still  to  that  self-deception,  with- 
out which  he  never  could  have  been  entrapped 
into  an  earthly  passion  :  he  never  breathed  a  word 
of"  love  to  her.  It  would  have  alarmed  her ;  it 
would  have  alarmed  himself.  Every  syllable  that 
passed  between  these  two  might  have  been  pub- 
lished without  scandal.  But  the  heart  does  not 
speak  by  words  alone  :  there  are  looks,  and  there 
are  tones  of  voice  that  belong  to  love,  and  are  his 
signs,  his  weapons ;  and  it  was  in  these  very  tones 
the  priest  murmured  to  his  gentle  listener  about 
"the  angelic  life"  between  spirits  still  lingering 
on  earth,  but  purged  from  earthly  dross ;  and  even 
about  other  topics  less  captivating  to  the  religious 
imagination.  He  had  persuaded  her  to  found  a 
school  in  this  dark  parish,  and  in  it  he  taught  the 
poor  with  exemplary  and  touching  patience. 
Well,  when  he  spoke  to  her  about  this  school,  it 
was  in  words  of  practical  good  sense,  but  in  tones 
of  love ;  and  she,  being  one  of  those  feminine 
women  who  catch  the  tone  they  are  addressed  in, 
and  instinctively  answer  in  tune,  and,  moreover, 
seeing  no  ill,  but  good,  in  the  subject  of  their  con- 
versation, replied  sometimes,  unguardedly  enough, 
in  accents  almost  as  tender. 

In  truth,  if  Love  Avas  really  a  personage,  as  the 
heathens  feigned,  he  must  have  often  perched  on 
a  tree  in  that  quiet  grove,  and  chuckled  and 
mocked  when  this  man  and  woman  sat  and  mur- 
mured together,  in  the  soft  seducing  twilight, 
about  the  love  of  God. 

And  now  things  had  come  to  a  crisis.  Hus- 
band and  wife  went  about  the  house  silent  and 
gloomy,  the  ghosts  of  their  former  selves ;  and 
the  priest  sat  solitary,  benighted,  bereaved  of  the 
one  human  creature  he  cared  for.  Day  succeed- 
ed to  day,  and  still  she  never  came.  Every  morn- 
ing he  said,  "  She  will  come  to-day,"  and  bright- 
ened with  the  hope.  But  the  leaden  hours  crept 
by,  and  still  she  came  not. 

Three  sorrowful  weeks  went  by,  and  he  fell 
into  deep  dejection.  He  used  to  wander  out  at 
night,  and  come  and  stand  Avhere  he  could  see 
her  windows  with  the  moon  shining  on  them ; 
then  go  slowly  home,  cold  in  body,  and  with  his 
heart  aching,  lonely,  deserted,  and  perhaps  for- 
gotten. Oh,  never  till  now  had  he  known  the 
utter  aching  sense  of  being  quite  alone  in  this 
weary  World. 

One  day,  as  he  sat,  drooping  and  listless,  there 
came  a  light  foot  along  the  passage,  a  light  tap 
at  the  door,  and  the  next  moment  she  stood 
before  him,  a  little  paler  than  usual,  but  lovelier 
than  ever,  for  celestial  pity  softened  her  noble 
features. 

The  priest  started  up  with  a  cry  of  joy  that 


ought  to  have  warned  her ;  but  it  only  brought 
a  faint  blush  of  pleasure  to  her  cheek  and  the 
brimming  tears  to  her  eyes. 

' '  Dear  father  and  friend, "  said  she.  ' '  What ! 
have  you  missed  me  ?  Think,  then,  how  I  have 
missed  you.  But  'twas  best  for  us  both  to  let 
their  vile  passions  cool  first." 

Leonard  could  not  immediately  reply.  The 
emotion  of  seeing  her  again  so  suddenly  almost 
choked  him. 

He  needed  all  the  self-possession  he  had  been 
years  acquiring  not  to  throw  himself  at  her  knees 
and  declare  his  passion  to  her. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  saw  his  agitation,  but  did  not 
interpret  it  aright. 

She  came  eagerly  and  sat  on  a  stool  "beside 
him.  "  Dear  father,"  she  said,  "do  not  let  their 
insolence  grieve  you.  They  have  smarted  for  it, 
and  shall  smart  till  they  make  their  submission 
to  you,  and  beg  and  entreat  you  to  come  to  us 
again.  Meantime,  since  you  can  not  visit  me,  I 
visit  you.  Confess  me,  father,  and  then  direct 
me  with  your  counsels.  Ah !  if  you  could  but 
give  me  the  Christian  temper  to  carry  them  out 
firmly  but  meekly !  'Tis  my  ungoverned  spirit 
hath  wrought  all  this  mischief,  mea  culpa  !  mea 
culpa  J" 

By  this  time  Leonard  had  recovered  his  self- 
possession,  and  he  spent  an  hour  of  strange  in- 
toxication confessing  his  idol,  sentencing  his  idol 
to  light  penances,  directing  and  advising  his  idol, 
and  all  in  the  soft  murmurs  of  a  lover. 

She  left  him,  and  the  room  seemed  to  darken. 

Two  days  only  elapsed,  and  she  came  again. 
Visit  succeeded  to  visit ;  and  her  affection  seem- 
ed boundless. 

The  insult  he  had  received  was  to  be  avenged 
in  one  place,  and  healed  in  another,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, effaced  with  tender  hand. 

So  she  kept  all  her  sweetness  for  that  little 
cottage,  and  all  her  acidity  for  Hernshaw  Castle. 

It  was  an  evil  hour  when  Griffith  attacked  her 
saint  with  violence.  The  woman  was  too  high- 
spirited,  and  too  sure  of  her  own  rectitude,  to 
endure  that ;  so,  instead  of  crushing  her,  it  drove 
her  to  retaliation  and  to  imprudence. 

These  visits  to  console  Father  Leonard  were 
quietly  watched  by  Ryder,  for  one  thing.  But, 
worse  than  that,  they  placed  Mrs.  Gaunt  in  a 
new  position  with  Leonard,  and  one  that  melts 
the  female  heart.  She  was  now  the  protectress 
and  the  consoler  of  a  man  she  admired  and  re- 
vered. I  say  if  any  thing  on  earth  can  breed 
love  in  a  grand  female  bosom,  this  will. 

She  had  put  her  foot  on  a  sunny  slope  clad 
with  innocent-looking  flowers,  but  more  and  more 
precipitous  at  every  step,  and  perdition  at  the 
bottom. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Father  Leonard,  visited,  soothed,  and  petted 
by  his  idol,  recovered  his  spirits,  and,  if  he  pined 
during  her  absence,  he  was  always  so  joyful  in 
her  presence  that  she  thought,  of  course,  he  was 
permanently  happy ;  so  then,  being  by  nature 
magnanimous  and  placable,  she  began  to  smile 
on  her  husband  again,  and  a  tacit  reconciliation 
came  about  by  natural  degrees. 

But  this  produced  a  startling  result. 

Leonard,  as  her  confessor,  had  only  to  follow 


70 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


precedents,  and  ask  questions  his. Church  has 
printed  for  the  use  of  confessors,  and  he  soon 
learned  enough  to  infer  that  their  disunion  had 
given  way. 

The  consequence  was  that  one  day,  being  off  his 
guard,  or  literally  unable  to  contain  his  bursting 
heart  any  longer,  he  uttered  a  cry  of  jealous  ag- 
ony, and  then,  in  a  torrent  of  burning,  melting 
words,  appealed  to  her  pity.  He  painted  her  hus- 
band's happiness  and  his  own  misery  and  barren 
desolation  with  a  fervid,  passionate  eloquence 
that  paralyzed  his  hearer,  and  left  her  pale  and 
trembling,  and  the  tears  of  pity  trickling  down 
her  cheek. 

Those  silent  tears  calmed  him  a  little,  and  he 
begged  her  forgiveness,  and  awaited  his  doom. 

"  I  pity  you,"  said  she,  angelically.  "What ! 
you  jealous  of  my  husband  ?  Oh,  pray  to  Christ 
and  our  Lady  to  cure  you  of  this  folly. " 

She  rose,  fluttering  inwardly,  but  calm  as  a 
statue  on  the  outside,  gave  him  her  hand^  and 
went  home  very  slowly,  and  the  moment  she  was 
out  of  his  sight  she  drooped  her  head  like  a  crush- 
ed flower.     She  was  sad,  ashamed,  alarmed. 

Her  mind  was  in  a  whirl ;  and,  were  I  to  imi- 
tate those  writers  who  undertake  to  dissect  and 
analyze  the  heart  at  such  moments,  and  put  the 
exact  result  on  paper,  I  should  be  apt  to  sacrifice 
truth  to  precision ;  I  must  stick  to  my  old  plan, 
and  tell  you  what  she  did :  that  will  surely  be 
some  index  to  her  mind,  especially  with  my  fe- 
male readers. 

She  went  home  straight  to  her  husband ;  he 
was  smoking  his  pipe  after  dinner.  She  drew 
her  chair  close  to  him,  and  laid  her  hand  tender- 
ly on  his  shoulder.  "  Griffith,"  she  said,  "will 
you  grant  your  wife  a  favor  ?  You  once  prom- 
ised to  take  me  abroad :  I  desire  to  go  now :  I 
long  to  see  foreign  countries  :  I  am  tired  of  this 
place.  I  want  a  change.  Prithee,  prithee  take 
me  hence  this  very  day." 

Griffith  looked  aghast,  i '  Why,  sweetheart,  it 
takes  a  deal  of  money  to  go  abroad;  we  must  get 
in  our  rents  first. " 

"Nay,  I  have  a  hundred  pounds  laid  by." 

"Well,  but  what  a  fancy  to  take  all  of  a  sud- 
den!" 

"  Oh,  Griffith,  don't  deny  me  what  I  ask  you, 
with  my  arm  round  your  neck,  dearest.  It  is  no 
fancy.  I  want  to  be  alone  with  you,  far  fr.om.  this 
place  where  coolness  has  come  between  us. "  And 
with  this  she  fell  to  crying  and  sobbing,  and 
straining  him  tight  to  her  bosom,  as  if  she  feared 
to  lose  him  or  be  taken  from  him. 

Griffith  kissed  her,  and  told  her  to  cheer  up ; 
he  was  not  the  man  to  deny  her  any  thing. 
"  Just  let  me  get  my  hay  in,"  said  he,  "  and  I'll 
take  you  to  Rome,  if  you  like. " 

"  No,  no ;  to-day,  or  to-morrow  at  farthest,  or 
you  don't  love  me  as  I  deserve  to  be  loved  by  you 
this  day." 

"Now,  Kate,  my  darling,  be  reasonable.  I 
must  get  my  hay  in,  and  then  I  am  your  man." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  had  gradually  sunk  almost  to  her 
knees.  She  now  started  up  with  nostrils  ex- 
panding and  her  blue  eyes  glittering.  "Your 
hay!"  she  cried,  with  bitter  contempt;  "your 
hay  before  you/wife  ?    That  is  how  you  love  me. " 

And,  the  next  moment,  she  seemed  to  turn 
from  a  fiery  woman  to  a  glacier. 

Griffith  smiled  at  all  this  with  that  lordly  su- 
periority the  male  of  our  species  sometimes  wears 


when  he  is  behaving  like  a  dull  ass,  and  smoked 
his  pipe,  and  resolved  to  indulge  her  whim  as 
soon  as  ever  he  had  got  his  hay  in. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Showery  weather  set  in,  and  the  hay  had  to 
be  turned  twice,  and  left  in  cocks  instead  of  car- 
ried. 

Griffith  spoke  now  and  then  about  the  foreign 
tour,  but  Kate  deigned  no  reply  whatever,  and 
the  chilled  topic  died  out  before  the  wet  hay  could 
be  got  in  ;  and  so  much  for  Procrastination. 

Meantime  Betty  Gough  was  sent  for  to  mend 
the  house-linen.  She  came  every  other  day  aft- 
er dinner,  and  sat  working  alone  beside  Mrs. 
Gaunt  till  dark. 

Caroline  Ryder  put  her  own  construction  on 
this,  and  tried  to  make  friends  with  Mrs.  Gough, 
intending  to  pump  her.  But  Mrs.  Gough  gave 
her  short,  dry  answers.  Ryder  then  felt  sure 
that  Gough  was  a  go-between,  and,  woman-like, 
turned  up  her  nose  at  her  with  marked  contempt. 
For  why  ?  This  office  of  go-between  was  one 
she  especially  coveted  for  herself  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, and  a  little  while  ago  it  had  seemed 
within  her  grasp. 

One  fine  afternoon  the  hay  was  all  earned,  and 
Griffith  came  home  in  good  spirits  to  tell  his  wife 
he  was  ready  to  make  the  grand  tour  with  her. 

He  was  met  at  the  gate  by  Mrs.  Gough  with  a 
face  of  great  coneera.  She  begged  him  to  come 
and  see  the  dame ;  she  had  slipped  on  the  oak 
stairs,  poor  soul !  and  hurt  her  back. 

Griffith  tore  up  the  stairs,  and  found  Kate  in 
the  drawing-room  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  her  doctor 
by  her  side.  He  came  in,  trembling  like  a  leaf, 
and  clasped  her  piteously  in  his  arms.  At  this 
she  uttered  a  little  patient  sigh  of  pain,  and  the 
doctor  begged  him  to  moderate  himself;  there 
was  no  immediate  cause  of  alarm  ;  but  she  must 
be  kept  quiet.  She  had  strained  her  back,  and 
her  nerves  were  shaken  by  the  fall. 

"Oh,  my  poor  Kate!"  cried  Griffith ;  and  would 
let  nobody  else  touch  her.  She  was  no  longer  a 
tall  girl,  but  a  statuesque  woman  ;  yet  he  carried 
her  in  his  Herculean  arms  up  to  her  bed.  She 
turned  her  head  toward  him  and  shed  a  gentle 
tear  at  this  proof  of  his  love,  but  the  next  moment 
she  was  cold  again,  and  seemed  weary  of  her  life. 

An  invalid's  bed  was  sent  to  her  by  the  doctor 
at  her  own  request,  and  placed  on  a  small  bed- 
stead. She  lay  on  this  at  night,  and  on  a  sofa 
by  day. 

Griffith  was  now  as  good  as  a  widower,  and 
Caroline  Ryder  improved  the  opportunity.  She 
threw  herself  constantly  in  his  way,  all  smiles, 
small  talk,  and  geniality. 

Like  many  healthy  men,  your  sickness  wearied 
him  if  it  lasted  over  two  days  ;  and  whenever  he 
came  out,  chilled  and  discontented,  from  his  in- 
valid wife,  there  was  a  fine,  buoyant,  healthy 
young  woman  ready  to  chat  with  him,  and  brim- 
ming over  with  undisguised  admiration. 

True,  she  was  only  a  servant — a  servant  to  the 
core.  But  she  had  been  always  about  ladies,  and 
could  wear  their  surface  as  readily  as  she  could 
their  gowns.  Moreover,  Griffith  himself  lacked 
dignity  and  reserve :  he  would  talk  to  any  body. 

The  two  women  began  to  fill  the  relative  situ- 
ations of  clouds  and  sunshine. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


71 


But,  ere  this  had  lasted  long,  the  enticing  con-  ! 
tact  with  the  object  of  her  lawless  fancy  inflamed 
Ryder,  and  made  her  so  impatient  that  she  struck 
her  long-meditated  blow  a  little  prematurely. 

The  passage  outside  Mrs.  Gaunt's  door  had  a 
large  window ;  and  one  day,  while  Griffith  was 
with  his  wife,  Ryder  composed  herself  on  the  win- 
dow-seat in  a  forlorn  attitude,  too  striking  and 
unlike  her  usual  gay  demeanor  to  pass  unnoticed. 

Griffith  came  out  and  saw  this  drooping,  dis- 
consolate figure.  "Hallo!"  said  he,  "what  is 
wrong  with  you  f  a  little  fretfully. 

A  deep  sigh  was  the  only  response. 

"  Had  words  with  your  sweetheart  ?" 

"You  know  I  have  no  sweetheart,  sir." 

The  good-natured  squire  made  an  attempt  or 
two  to  console  her  and  find  out  what  was  the 
matter,  but  he  could  get  nothing  out  of  her  but 
monosyllables  and  sighs.  At  last  the  crocodile 
contrived  to  cry ;  and,  having  thus  secured  his 
pity,  she  said,  "There,  never  heed  me.  I'm  a 
foolish  woman  ;  I  can't  bear  to  see  my  dear  mas- 
ter so  abused." 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  said  Griffith,  sternly. 
Her  very  first  shaft  wounded  his  peace  of 
mind. 

' '  Oh,  no  matter !  Why  should  I  be  your  friend 
and  my  own  enemy  ?  If  I  tell  you  I  shall  lose 
my  place. " 

"Nonsense,  girl,  you  shall  never  lose  your 
place  while  I  am  here. " 

"Well,  I  hope  not,  sir,  for  I  am  very  happy 
here — too  happy,  methinks,  when  you  speak  kind- 
ly to  me.  Take  no  notice  of  what  I  said.  'Tis 
best  to  be  blind  at  times." 

The  simple  squire  did  not  see  that  this  artful 
creature  was  playing  the  stale  game  of  her  sex — 
stimulating  his  curiosity  under  pretense  of  put- 
ting him  off.  He  began  to  fret  with  suspicion 
and  curiosity,  and  insisted  on  her  speaking  out. 

"Ah!  but  I  am  so  afraid  you  will  hate  me," 
said  she,  "  and  that  will  be  worse  than  losing  my 
place." 

Griffith  stamped  on  the  ground.  "What  is 
it  ?"  said  he,  fiercely. 

Ryder  seemed  frightened.  "It  is  nothing," 
said  she  ;  then  she  paused,  and  added,  "but  my 
folly.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  waste  your  feel- 
ings.    She  is  not  so  ill  as  you  fancy. " 

* '  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  wife  is  pre- 
tending ?" 

1 '  How  can  I  say  that  ?  I  wasn't  there  ;  nobody 
saw  her  fall,  nor  heard  her  either,  and  the  house 
full  of  people.  No  doubt  there  is  something  the 
matter  with  her,  but  I  do  believe  her  heart  is  in 
more  trouble  than  her  back." 

"And  what  troubles  her  heart  ?  Tell  me,  and 
she  shall  not  fret  long." 

"Well,  sir,  then  just  you  send  for  Father 
Leonard,  and  she  will  get  up,  and  walk  as  she 
used,  and  smile  on  you  as  she  used.  That  man 
is  the  main  of  her  sickness,  you  take  my  word." 

Griffith  turned  sick  at  heart ;  and  the  strong 
man  literally  staggered  at  this  envenomed  thrust 
of  a  weak  woman's  tongue.  But  he  struggled 
with  the  poison. 

"  What  d'ye  mean,  woman  ?"  said  he.  "  The 
priest  hasn't  been  near  her  these  two  months." 

"That  is  it,  sir,"  replied  Ryder,  quietly;  "he 
is  too  wise  to  come  here  against  your  will,  and 
she  is  bitter  against  you  for  frightening  him 
away.     Ask  yourself,  sir,  didn't  she  change  to 


you  the  moment  that  you  threatened  that  Leon- 
ard with  the  horse-pond  ?" 

"  That  is  true !"  gasped  the  wretched  husband. 

Yet  he  struggled  again.  "  But  she  made  it  up 
with  me  after  that.  Why,  'twas  but  the  other 
day  she  begged  me  to  go  abroad  with  her,  and 
take  her  away  from  this  place." 

"Ah?  indeed!"  said  Ryder,  bending  her  black 
brows,  " did  she  so?" 

"That  she  did,"  said  Griffith,  joyfully :  "so 
you  see  you  are  mistaken. " 

' '  You  should  have  taken  her  at  her  word,  sir, " 
was  all  the  woman's  reply. 

"  Well,  you  see,  the  hay  was  out,  so  I  put  it 
off;  and  then  came  the  cursed  rain  day  after 
day,  and  so  she  cooled  upon  it." 

"Of  course  she  did,  sir."  Then,  with  a  so- 
lemnity that  appalled  her  miserable  listener,  "I'd 
give  all  I'm  worth  if  you  had  taken  her  at  her 
word  that  minute.  But  that  is  the  way  with 
you  gentlemen  ;  you  let  the  occasion  slip,  and  we 
that  be  women  never  forgive  that :  she  won't 
give  you  the  same  chance  again,  /  know.  Now, 
if  I  was  not  afraid  to  make  you  unhappy,  I'd  tell 
you  why  she  asked  you  to  go  abroad.  She  felt 
herself  weak  and  saw  her  danger ;  she  found  she 
could  not  resist  that  Leonard  any  longer,  and  she 
had  the  sense  to  see  it  wasn't  worth  her  while  to 
ruin  herself  for  him,  so  she  asked  you  to  save  her 
from  him — that  is  the  plain  English.  And  you 
didn't." 

At  this  Griffith's  face  wore  an  expression  of 
agony  so  horrible  that  Ryder  hesitated  in  her 
course.  "There,  there,"  said  she,  "pray  don't 
look  so,  dear  master !  After  all,  there's  nothing 
certain ;  and  perhaps  I  am  too  severe  where  I 
see  you  ill  treated ;  and,  to  be  sure,  no  woman 
could  be  cold  to  you  unless  she  was  bewitched 
out  of  her  seven  senses  by  some  other  man.  I 
couldn't  use  you  as  mistress  does ;  but  then 
there's  nobody  I  care  a  straw  for  in  these  parts 
except  my  dear  master." 

Griffith  took  no  notice  of  this  overture ;  the 
potent  poison  of  jealousy  was  coursing  through 
all  his  veins  and  distorting  his  ghastly  face. 

"O  God!"  he  gasped,  "can  this  thing  be? 
My  wife !  the  mother  of  my  child !  It  is  a  lie ! 
I  can't  believe  it — I  won't  believe  it.  Have  pity 
on  me,  woman,  and  think  again,  and  unsay  your 
words ;  for,  if  'tis  so,  there  will  be  murder  in  this 
house. " 

Ryder  was  alarmed.  ' '  Don't  talk  so, "  said  she, 
hastily ,  "  no  woman  born  is  worth  that ;  besides, 
as  you  say,  what  do  we  know  against  her  ?  She 
is  a  gentlewoman,  and  well  brought  up.  Now, 
dear  master,  you  have  got  one  friend  in  this 
house,  and  that  is  me :  I  know  women  better 
than  you  do.     Will  you  be  ruled  by  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will ;  for  I  do  believe  you  care  a  lit- 
tle for  me. " 

"Then  don't  you  believe  any  thing  against 
our  dame.  Keep  quiet  till  you  know  more. 
Don't  you  be  so  simple  as  to  accuse  her  to  her 
face,  or  you'll  never  learn  the  truth.  Just  you 
watch  her  quietly,  without  seeming,  and  I'll  help 
you.     Be  a  man,  and  know  the  truth." 

"I  will!"  said  Griffith,  grinding  his  teeth, 
"and  I  believe  she  will  come  out  pure  as  snow." 

"Well,  I  hope  so  too,"  said  Ryder,  dryly. 
Then  she  added,  "  But  don't  you  be  seen  speak- 
ing to  me  too  much,  sir,  or  she  will  suspect  me, 
and  then  she  will  be  on  her  guard  with  me. 


72 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


When  I  have  any  thing  particular  to  tell  you, 
I'll  cough — so,  and  then  I'll  run  out  into  the 
Grove  :  nobody  goes  there  now." 

Griffith  did  not  see  the  hussy  was  contriving 
a  series  of  assignations.  He  fell  into  the  trap 
bodily. 

The  life  this  man  led  was  now  infernal. 

He  watched  his  wife  night  and  day  to  detect 
her  heart ;  he  gave  up  hunting,  he  deserted  the 
i '  Red  Lion  ;"  if  he  went  out  of  doors,  it  was  but 
a  step ;  he  hovered  about  the  place  to  see  if  mes- 
sages came  or  went ;  and  he  spent  hours  in  his 
wife's  bedroom,  watching  her,  grim,  silent,  and 
sombre,  to  detect  her  inmost  heart.  His  flesh 
wasted  visibly,  and  his  ruddy  color  paled.  Hell 
was  in  his  heart.  Ay,  two  hells — jealousy  and 
suspense. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  saw  directly  that  something  was 
amiss,  and  ere  long  she  divined  what  it  was. 

But,  if  he  was  jealous,  she  was  proud  as  Luci- 
fer. So  she  met  his  ever-watchful  eye  with  the 
face  of  a  marble  statue. 

Only  in  secret  her  heart  quaked  and  yearned, 
and  she  shed  many  a  furtive  tear,  and  was  sore, 
sore  perplexed. 

Meantime  Ryder  was  playing  with  her  master's 
anguish  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse. 

Upon  the  pretense  of  some  petty  discovery  or 
other,  she  got  him  out  day  after  day  into  the 
Grove,  and,  to  make  him  believe  in  her  candor 
and  impartiality,  would  give  him  feeble  reasons 
for  thinking  his  wife  loved  him  still,  taking  care 
to  overpower  these  reasons  with  some  little  piece 
of  strong  good  sense  and  subtle  observation. 

It  is  the  fate  of  moral  poisoners  to  poison 
themselves  as  well  as  their  victims.  This  is  a 
just  retribution,  and  it  fell  upon  this  female  Iago. 
11  er  wretched  master  now  loved  his  wife  to  dis- 
traction, yet  hated  her  to  the  death  ;  and  Ryder 
loved  her  master  passionately,  yet  hated  him 
intensely,  by  fits  and  starts. 

These  secret  meetings  on  which  she  had  count- 
ed so,  what  did  she  gain  by  them?  She  saw  that, 
with  all  her  beauty,  intelligence,  and  zeal  for  him, 
she  was  nothing  to  him  still.  He  suspected,  he 
sometimes  haled  his  wife,  but  he  was  always  full 
of  her.  There  was  no  getting  any  other  wedge 
into  his  heart. 

This  so  embittered  Ryder  that  one  day  she 
revenged  herself  on  him. 

He  had  been  saying  that  no  earthly  torment 
could  equal  his ;  all  his  watching  had  shown  him 
nothing  for  certain.  ' '  Oh, "  said  he,  "  if  I  could 
only  get  proof  of  her  innocence  or  proof  of  her 
guilt!  Any  thing  better  than  the  misery  of 
doubt.  It  gnaws  my  heart,  it  consumes  my 
flesh.  I  can't  sleep,  1  can't  eat,  I  can't  sit  down. 
I  envy  the  dead  that  lie  at  peace.  Oh,  my  heart ! 
my  heart!" 

1 '  And  all  for  a  woman  that  is  not  young,  nor 
half  so  handsome  as  yourself.  Well,  sir,  I'll  try 
and  cure  you  of  your  doubt,  if  that  is  what  tor- 
ments you.  When  you  threatened  that  Leonard, 
he  got  his  orders  to  come  here  no  more.  But 
she  Aisited  him  at  his  place  again  and  again." 

"  'Tis  false !     How  know  you  that  ?" 

"As  soon  as  your  back  was  turned  she  used 
to  order  her  horse  and  ride  to  him." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  went  to  him  ?" 

"I  mounted  the  tower,  and  saw  the  way  she 
took." 


Griffith's  face  was  a  piteous  sight.  He  stam- 
mered out,  "Well,  he  is  her  confessor.  She 
always  visited  him  at  times." 

"Ay,  sir;  but  in  those  days  her  blood  was 
cool,  and  his  too ;  but  bethink  you  now,  when 
you  threatened  the  man  with  the  horse-pond,  he 
became  your  enemy.  All  revenge  is  sweet,  but 
what  revenge  is  so  sweet  to  any  man  as  that 
which  came  to  his  arms  of  its  own  accord  ?  I 
do  notice  that  men  can't  read  men,  but  any 
woman  can  read  a  woman.  Maids  they  are  re- 
served, because  their  mothers  have  told  thera 
that  is  the  only  way  to  get  married.  But  what 
have  a  wife  and  a  priest  to  keep  them  distant  ? 
Can  they  ever  hope  to  come  together  lawfully  ? 
That  is  why  a  priest's  light-o'-love  is  always 
some  honest  man's  wife.  What  had  those  two 
to  keep  them  from  folly?  Old  Betty  Gough? 
Why,  the  mistress  had  bought  her,  body  and 
soul,  long  ago.  No,  sir,  you  had  no  friend  there; 
and  you  had  three  enemies — love,  revenge,  and 
opportunity.  Why,  what  did  the  priest  say  to 
me?  I  met  him  not  ten  yards  from  here. 
'Ware  the  horse -pond!'  says  I.  Says  he, 
'  Since  I  am  to  have  the  bitter,  Fll  have  the 
siceet  as  well.'  "* 

These  infernal  words  were  not  spoken  in  vain. 
Griffith's  features  were  horribly  distorted,  his 
eyes  rolled  fearfully,  and  he  fell  to  the  ground, 
grinding  his  teeth,  and  foaming  at  the  mouth. 
An  epileptic  fit ! 

An  epileptic  fit  is  a  terrible  sight ;  the  simple 
description  of  one  in  our  medical  books  is  ap- 
palling. 

And  in  this  case  it  was  all  the  more  fearful, 
the  subject  being  so  strong  and  active. 

Caroline  Ryder  shrieked  with  terror,  but  no 
one  heard  her ;  at  all  events,  no  one  came ;  to 
be  sure,  the  place  had  a  bad  name  for  ghosts,  etc. 

She  tried  to  hold  his  head,  but  could  not,  for 
his  body  kept  bounding  from  the  earth  with  in- 
conceivable elasticity  and  fury,  and  his  arms  flew 
in  every  direction ;  and  presently  Ryder  received 
a  violent  blow  that  almost  stunned  her. 

She  lay  groaning  and  trembling  beside  the 
victim  of  her  poisonous  tongue  and  of  his  own 
passion. 

When  she  recovered  herself  fie  was  snorting 
rather  than  breathing,  but  lying  still  and  pale 
enough,  his  eyes  set  and  glassy. 

She  got  up,  and  went  with  uneven  steps  to  a 
little  rill  hard  by,  and  plunged  her  face  in  it ; 
then  filled  her  beaver  hat,  and  came  and  dashed 
water  repeatedly  in  his  face. 

He  came  to  his  senses  by  degrees,  but  was 
weak  as  an  infant.  Then  Ryder  wiped  the  foam 
from  his  lips,  and,  kneeling  on  her  knees,  laid  a 
soft  hand  upon  his  heavy  head,  shedding  tears  of 
pity  and  remorse,  and  sick  at  heart  herself. 

For  what  had  she  gained  by  blackening  her 
rival?  The  sight  of  his  bodily  agony,  and  his 
ineradicable  love. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  sat  out  cf  shot,  cold,  calm,  supe- 
rior. 

Yet,  in  the  desperation  of  her  passion,  it  was 
something  to  nurse  his  weak  head  an  instant  and 
shed  hot  tears  upon  his  brow;  it  was  a  positive 
joy,  and  soon  proved  a  fresh  and  inevitable 
temptation. 

"My  poor  master,"  said  she,  tenderly,  "I 


*  Compare  this  statement  with  p.  66. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


ra 


never  will  say  a  word  to  you  again.  It  is  better 
to  be  blind.  My  God!  how  you  cling  to  her 
that  feigns  a  broken  back  to  be  rid  of  you,  when 
there  are  others  as  well  to  look  at,  and  ever  so 
much  younger,  that  adore  every  hair  on  your 
head,  and  would  follow  you  round  the  world  for 
one  kind  look." 

"  Let  no  one  love  me  like  that,"  said  Griffith, 
feebly ;  "to  love  so  is  to  be  miserable." 

"Pity  her,  then,  at  least,"  murmured  Ryder; 
and,  feeling  she  had  quite  committed  herself 
now,  her  bosom  panted  under  Griffith's  ear,  and 
told  him  the  secret  she  had  kept  till  now. 

My  female  readers  will  sneer  at  this  tempta- 
tion ;  my  male  readers  know  that  scarcely  one 
man  out  of  a  dozen,  sick,  sore,  and  hating  her 
he  loved,  would  have  turned  away  from  the  illicit 
consolation  thus  offered  to  him  in  his  hour  of 
weakness  with  soft  seducing  tones,  warm  tears, 
and  heart  that  panted  at  his  ear. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

How  did  poor  faulty  Griffith  receive  it  ? 

He  raised  his  head,  and  turned  his  brown  eye 
gently  but  full  upon  her.  "  My  poor  girl,"  said 
he,  "I  see  what  you  are  driving  at.  But  that 
will  not  do.  I  have  nothing  to  give  you  in  ex- 
change. I  hate  my  wife  that  I  loved  so  dear ; 
d — n  her  !  d — n  her  !  But  I  hate  all  woman- 
kind for  her  sake.  Keep  you  clear  of  me.  I 
would  ruin  no  poor  girl  for  heartless  sport.  I 
shall  have  blood  on  my  hands  ere  long,  and  that 
is  enough." 

And,  with  these  alarming  words,  he  seemed 
suddenly  to  recover  all  his  vigor;  for  he  rose 
and  stalked  away  at  once,  and  never  looked  be- 
hind him. 

Ryder  made  no  farther  attempt.  She  sat 
down  and  shed  bitter  tears  of  sorrow  and  morti- 
fication. 

After  this  cruel  rebuff  she  must  hate  some- 
body, and,  with  the  justice  of  her  sex,  she  pitch- 
ed on  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  hated  her  like  a  demon, 
and  watched  to  do  her  mischief  by  hook  or  by 
crook. 

Griffith's  appearance  and  manner  caused  Mrs. 
Gaunt  very  serious  anxiety.  His  clothes  hung 
loose  on  his  wasted  frame ;  his  face  was  of  one 
uniform  "sallow  tint,  like  a  maniac's  ;  and  he  sat 
silent  for  hours  beside  his  wife,  eying  her  askant 
from  time  to  time  like  a  surly  mastiff  guarding 
some  treasure. 

She  divined  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  and 
tried  to  soothe  him,  but  almost  in  vain.  He 
was  sometimes  softened  for  the  moment ;  but 
hceret  lateri  let  kalis  arundo ;  he  still  hovered 
about,  watching  her  and  tormenting  himself, 
gnawed  mad  by  three  vultures  of  the  mind — 
doubt,  jealousy,  and  suspense. 

Then  Mrs.  Gaunt  wrote  letters  to  Father 
Leonard ;  hitherto  she  had  only  sent  him  short 
messages. 

Betty  Gough  carried  these  letters  and  brought 
the  answers.  I 

Griffith,  thanks  to  the  hint  Ryder  had  given 
him,  suspected  this,  and  waylaid  the  old  woman, 
and  roughly  demanded  to  see  the  letter  she  was 
carrying.  She  stoutly  protested  she  had  none. 
He  seized  her,  turned  her  pockets  inside  out,  and 


found  a  bunch  of  keys  ;  item,  a  printed  dialogue 
between  Peter  and  Herod,  omitted  in  the  canoni- 
cal books,  but  described  by  the  modern  discover- 
er as  an  infallible  charm  for  the  toothache  ;  item, 
a  brass  thimble ;  item,  half  a  nutmeg. 

"  Curse  your  cunning,''  said  he ;  and  went  off 
muttering. 

The  old  woman  tottered  trembling  to  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  related  this  outrage  with  an  air  of  injured 
innocence,  then  removed  her  cap,  undid  her  hair, 
and  took  out  a  letter  from  Leonard. 

"  This  must  end,  and  shall,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt, 
firmly,  "  else  it  will  drive  him  mad  and  me  too." 

Bolton  fair-day  came.  It  was  a  great  fair, 
and  had  attractions  for  all  classes.  There  were 
cattle  and  horses  of  all  kinds  for  sale,  and  also 
shows,  games,  wrestling,  and  dancing  till  day- 
break. 

All  the  sen-ants  had  a  prescriptive  right  to  go 
to  this  fair,  and  Griffith  himself  had  never  missed 
one.  He  told  Kate  overnight  he  would  go  if  it 
were  not  for  leaving  her  alone. 

The  words  were  kinder  than  their  meaning, 
but  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  the  tact  or  the  candor  to 
take  them  in  their  best  sense.  "And  I  would 
go  Avith  you,  my  dear,"  said  she,  "but  I  should 
only  be  a  drag.  Never  heed  me ;  give  yourself 
a  day's  pleasure,  for  indeed  you  need  it.  I  am 
in  care  about  you,  you  are  so  dull  of  late." 

"  Well,  I  will,"  said  Griffith.  "  I'll  not  mope 
here  when  all  the  rest  are  merry-making." 

Accordingly,  next  day,  about  eleven  in  the 
morning,  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to  the 
fair,  leaving  the  house  empty,  for  all  the  serv- 
ants were  gone  except  the  old  housekeeper ;  she 
was  tied  to  the  fireside  by  rheumatics.  Even 
Ryder  started,  with  a  new  bonnet  and  red  rib- 
bons ;  but  that  was  only  a  blind.  She  slipped 
back  and  got  unperceived  into  her  own  bed- 
room. 

Griffith  ran  through  the  fair,  but  could  not 
enjoy  it.  Hcerebat  lateri  arundo.  He  came  gal- 
loping back  to  watch  his  wife,  and  see  whether 
Betty  Gough  had  come  again  or  not. 

As  he  rode  into  the  stable-yard  he  caught  sight 
of  Ryder's  face  at  an  upper  window.  She  look- 
ed pale  and  agitated,  and  her  black  eyes  flashed 
with  a  strange  expression.  She  made  him  a  sig- 
nal which  he  did  not  understand,  but  she  joined 
him  directly  after  in  the  stable-yard. 

"Come  quietly  with  me,"  said  she,  solemnly. 

He  hooked  his  horse's  rein  to  the  wall,  and 
followed  her,  trembling. 

She  took  him  up  the  back  stairs,  and,  when 
she  got  on  the  landing,  she  turned  and  said, 
' '  Where  did  you  leave  her  ?" 

"  In  her  own  room." 

"  See  if  she  is  there  now,"  said  Ryder,  point- 
ing to  the  door. 

Griffith  tore  the  door  open ;  the  room  was 
empty. 

' '  Nor  is  she  to  be  found  in  the  house, "  said 
Ryder, ' '  for  I've  been  in  every  room. " 

'Griffith's  face  turned  livid,  and  he  staggered 
and  leaned  against  the  wall.  "Where  is  she  ?" 
said  he,  hoarsely. 

"Humph!"  said  Ryder,  fiendishly.  "Find 
him,  and  you  will  find  her." 

"I'll  find  them  if  they  are  above  ground," 
cried  Griffith,  furiously,  and  he  rushed  into  his 
bedroom  and  soon  came  out  again,  with  a  fear- 
ful purpose  written  on  his  ghastly  features  and 


74 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


in  his  bloodshot  eyes,  and  a  loaded  pistol  in  his 
hand. 

Ryder  was  terrified ;  hut,  instead  of  succumb- 
ing to  terror,  she  flew  at  him  like  a  cat  and 
wreathed  her  arms  round  him. 

"What  would  you  do?"  cried  she.  "Mad- 
man, would  you  hang  for  them,  and  break  my 
heart  ? — the  only  woman  in  the  world  that  loves 
you.     Give  me  the  pistol.     Nay,  I  will  have  it." 

And,  with  that  extraordinary  power  excite- 
ment lends  her  sex,  she  wrenched  it  out  of  his 
hands. 

He  gnashed  his  teeth  with  fury,  and  clutched 
her  with  a  gripe  of  iron.  She  screamed  with 
pain :  he  relaxed  his  grasp  a  little  at  that :  she 
turned  on  him  and  defied  him. 

"I  won't  let  you  get  into  trouble  for  a  priest 
and  a  wanton,"  she  cried;  "you  shall  kill  me 
first.  Leave  me  the  pistol,  and  pledge  me  your 
sacred  word  to  do  them  no  harm,  and  then  I'll 
tell  you  where  they  are.  Refuse  me  this,  and 
you  shall  go  to  your  graA'e  and  know  nothing 
more  than  you  know  now." 

"No,  no;  if  you  are  a  woman,  have  pity  on 
me ;  let  me  come  at  them.  There,  I'll  use  no 
weapon.  I'll  tear  them  to  atoms  with  these 
hands.     Where  are  they  ?" 

"  May  I  put  the  pistol  away,  then?" 

"Yes,  take  it  out  of  my  sight;  so  best. 
Where  are  they?" 

Ryder  locked  the  pistol  up  in  one  of  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  boxes.  Then  she  said,  in  a  trembling 
voice,  "Follow  me." 

He  followed  her  in  awful  silence. 

She  went  rather  slowly  to  the  door  that  open- 
ed on  the  lawn,  and  then  she  hesitated.  "If 
you  are  a  man,  and  have  any  feeling  for  a  poor 
girl  who  loves  you — if  you  are  a  gentleman,  and 
respect  your  word — no  violence." 

"I  promise,"  said  he.     ' '  Where  are  they  ?" 

"Nay,  nay,  I  fear  I  shall  rue  the  day  I  told 
you.  Promise  me  once  more :  no  bloodshed — 
upon  your  soul." 

"  I  promise.      Where  are  they  ? " 

"  God  forgive  me ;  they  are  in  the  Grove." 

He  bounded  away  from  her  like  some  beast 
of  prey,  and  she  crouched  and  trembled  on  the 
steps  of  the  door ;  and,  now  that  she  realized 
what  she  was  doing,  a  sickening  sense  of  dire 
misgiving  came  over  her  and  made  her  feel  quite 
faint. 

And  so  the  weak,  but  dangerous  creature  sat 
crouching  and  quaking,  and.launched  the  strong 
one. 

Griffith  was  soon  in  the  Grove,  and  the  first 
thing  he  saw  was  Leonard  and  his  wife  walking 
together  in  earnest  conversation.  Their  backs 
were  toward  him.  Mrs.  Gaunt,  whom  he  had 
left  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  who  professed  herself 
scarce  able  to  walk  half  a  dozen  times  across  the 
room,  was  now  springing  along,  elastic  as  a 
young  greyhound,  and  full  of  fire  and  animation. 
The  miserable  husband  saw,  and  his  heart  died 
within  him. 

He  leaned  against  a  tree  and  groaned. 

The  deadly  sickness  of  his  heart  soon  gave  way 
to  sombre  fury.  He  came  softly  after  them,  with 
ghastly  cheek,  and  bloodthirsty  eyes  like  red-hot 
coals. 

They  stopped,  and  he  heard  his  wife  say, "  'Tis 
a  solemn  promise,  then — this  very  night. "  The 
priest  bowed  assent.     Then  they  spoke  in  so  low 


a  voice  he  could  not  hear ;  but  his  wife  pressed  a 
purse  upon  Leonard,  and  Leonard  hesitated,  but 
ended  by  taking  it. 

Griffith  uttered  a  yell  like  a  tiger,  and  rushed 
between  them  with  savage  violence,  driving  the 
lady  one  way  with  his  wrists,  and  the  priest  an- 
other.    She  screamed ;  he  trembled  in  silence. 

Griffith  stood  a  moment  between  these  two  pale 
faces,  silent  and  awful. 

Then  he  faced  his  wife.  "  You  vile  wretch !" 
he  cried;  "so  you  buy  your  own  dishonor  and 
mine."  He  raised  his  hand  high  over  her  head  ; 
she  never  winced.  "  Oh !  but  for  my  oath,  I'd 
lay  you  dead  at  my  feet.  But  no  ;  I'll  not  hang 
for  a  priest  and  a  wanton.  So,  this  is  the  thing 
you  love,  and  pay  it  to  love  you. "  And,  with  all 
the  mad  inconsistency  of  rage,  which  mixes  small 
things  and  great,  he  tore  the  purse  out  of  Leon- 
ard's hand,  and  then  seized  him  felly  by  the 
throat. 

At  that  the  high  spirit  of  Mrs.  Gaunt  gave  way 
to  abject  terror.  "Oh,  mercy!  mercy!"  she 
cried  ;  "  it  is  all  a  mistake."  And  she  clung  to 
his  knees. 

He  spurned  her  furiously  away.  * '  Don't  touch 
me,  woman,"  he  cried,  "  or  you  are  dead.  Look 
at  this!"  And  in  a  moment,  with  gigantic 
strength  and  fury,  he  dashed  the  priest  down  at 
her  feet.  ' '  I  know  ye,  ye  proud  devil, "  he  cried ; 
"  love  the  thing  you  have  seen  me  tread  upon — 
love  it,  if  ye  can!"  And  he  literally  trampled 
upon  the  poor  priest  with  both  feet. 

Leonard  shrieked  for  mercy. 

"None,  in  this  world  or  the  next,"  roared 
Griffith  ;  but  the  next  moment  he  took  fright  at 
himself.  ' '  God  ! "  he  cried, ' '  I  must  go,  or  kill. 
Live  and  be  damned  forever,  the  pair  of  ye." 
And  with  this  he  fled  from  them,  grinding  his 
teeth  and  beating  the  air  with  his  clenched 
fists. 

He  darted  to  the  stable-yard,  sprang  on  his 
horse,  and  galloped  away  from  Hernshaw  Castle, 
With  the  face,  the  eyes,  the  gestures,  the  inco- 
herent mutterings  of  a  raving  Bedlamite. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

At  the  fair  the  wrestling  was  ended,  and  the 
tongues  going  over  it  all  again,  and  throwing  the 
victors ;  the  greasy  pole,  with  leg  of  mutton  at- 
tached by  ribbons,  was  being  hoisted,  and  the 
swings  flying,  and  the  lads  and  lasses  footing  it  to 
the  fife  and  tabor,  and  the  people  chattering  in 
groups,  when  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  feet  was 
heard,  and  a  horseman  burst  in  and  rode  reck- 
lessly through  the  market-place ;  indeed,  if  his 
noble  horse  had  been  as  rash  as  he  was,  some 
would  have  been  trampled  under  foot.  The  rid- 
er's face  was  ghastly ;  such  as  were  not  exactly 
in  his  path  had  time  to  see  it,  and  wonder  how 
this  terrible  countenance  came  into  that  merry 
place.  Thus,  as  he  passed,  shouts  of  dismay 
arose,  and  a  space  opened  before  him,  and  then 
closed  behind  him  with  a  great  murmur  that  fol- 
lowed at  his  heels. 

Tom  Leicester  was  listening,  spell-bound,  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  throng,  to  the  songs  and  hu- 
morous tirades  of  a  peddler  selling  his  wares,  and 
was  saying  to  himself,  "I  too  will  be  a  peddler." 
Hearing  the  row,  he  turned  round,  and  saw  his 
master  just  coming  down  with  that  stricken  face. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


75 


Tom  could  not  decipher  his  own  name  in  print 
or  manuscript,  and  these  are  the  fellows  that 
heat  us  all  at  reading  countenances  ;  he  saw  in  a 
moment  that  some  great  calamity  had  fallen  on 
Griffith's  head,  and  nature  stirred  in  him.  He 
darted  to  his  master's  side  and  seized  the  bridle. 
"  What  is  up  ?"  he  cried. 

But  Griffith  did  not  answer  nor  notice;  his 
ears  were  almost  deaf,  and  his  eyes,  great  and 
staring,  were  fixed  right  ahead,  and,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, he  did  not  see  the  people ;  he  seemed 
to  be  making  for  the  horizon. 

' '  Master !  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  speak  to 
me,"  cried  Leicester.  "What  have  they  done 
to  you  ?  Whither  be  you  going,  with  the  face  of 
a  ghost?" 

"Away,  from  the  hangman, "  shrieked  Griffith, 
still  staring  at  the  horizon.  "  Stay  me  not ;  my 
hands  itch  for  their  throats ;  my  heart  thirsts  for 
their  blood  ;  but  I'll  not  hang  for  a  priest  and  a 
wanton. "  Then  he  suddenly  turned  on  Leicester, 
"Let  thou  go,  or — "  and  he  lifted  up  his  heavy 
riding-whip. 

Then  Leicester  let  go  the  rein,  and  the  whip 
descended  on  the  horse's  flank;  he  went  clatter- 
ing furiously  over  the  stones,  and  drove  the  thin- 
ner groups  apart  like  chaff,  and  his  galloping  feet 
were  soon  heard  fainter  and  fainter  till  they  died 
away  in  the  distance.     Leicester  stood  gaping. 

Griffith's  horse,  a  black  hunter  of  singular 
power  and  beauty,  carried  his  wretched  master 
well  that  day;  he  went  on  till  sunset,  trotting, 
cantering,  and  walking  without  intermission ;  the 
whip  ceased  to  touch  him,  the  rein  never  checked 
him.  He  found  he  was  the  master,  and  he  went 
his  own  way.  He  took  his  broken  rider  back 
into  the  county  where  he  had  been  foaled.  But  a 
few  miles  from  his  native  place  they  came  to  the 
"Packhorse,"  a  pretty  little  road-side  inn,  with 
farm-yard  and  buildings  at  the  back.  He  had 
often  baited  there  in  his  infancy ;  and  now,  stiff 
and  stumbling  with  fatigue,  the  good  horse  could 
not  pass  the  familiar  place;  he  walked  gravely 
into  the  stable-yard,  and  there  fairly  came  to  an 
end;  craned  out  his  drooping  head,  crooked  his 
limbs,  and  seemed  of  wood.  And  no  wOnder — 
he  was  ninety-three  miles  from  his  last  corn. 

Paul  Carrick,  a  young  farrier  who  frequented 
the  "Packhorse,"  happened  just  then  to  be  loung- 
ing at  the  kitchen  door,  and  saw  him  come  in. 
He  turned  directly,  and  shouted  into  the  house, 
"  Ho !  Master  Vint,  come  hither.  Here's  Black 
Dick  come  home,  and  brought  you  a  worshipful 
customer." 

The  landlord  bustled  out  of  the  kitchen,  cry- 
ing, "  They  are  welcome  both."  Then  he  came 
lowly  louting  to  Griffith,  cap  in  hand,  and  held 
the  horse,  poor  immovable  brute ;  and  his  wife 
courtesied  perseveringly  at  the  door.        % 

Griffith  dismounted,  and  stood  there  looking 
like  one  in  a  dream. 

"Please  you  come  in,  sir,"  said  the  landlady, 
smiling  professionally. 

He  followed  her  mechanically. 

"Would  your  worship  be  private?  We  keep 
a  parlor  for  gentles." 

"Ay,  let  me  be  alone,"  he  groaned. 

Mercy  Vint,  the  daughter,  happened  to  be  on 
the  stairs  and  heard  him  ;  the  voice  startled  her, 
and  she  turned  round  directly  to  look  at  the 
speaker ;  but  she  only  saw  his  back  going  into 


the  room,  and  then  he  flung  himself  like  a  sack 
into  the  arm-chair. 

The  landlady  invited  him  to  order  supper  ;  he 
declined.  She  pressed  him.  He  flung  a  piece 
of  money  on  the  table,  and  told  her  savagely  to 
score  his  supper,  and  leave  him  in  peace. 

She  flounced  out  with  a  red  face,  and  com- 
plained to  her  husband  in  the  kitchen. 

Harry  Vint  rung  the  crown  piece  on  the  table 
before  he  committed  himself  to  a  reply.  It  rang 
like  a  bell.  "Churl  or  not,  his  coin  is  good," 
said  Harry  Vint,  philosophically.  "I'll  eat  his 
supper,  dame,  for  that  matter." 

" Father,"  whispered  Mercy,  "I  do  think  the 
gentleman  is  in  trouble." 

"And  that  is  no  business  of  mine,  neither," 
said  Harry  Vint. 

Presently  the  guest  they  were  discussing  called 
loudly  for  a  quart  of  burnt  wine. 

When  it  was  ready,  Mercy  offered  to  take  it  in 
to  him.  She  was  curious.  The  landlord  looked 
up  rather  surprised,  for  his  daughter  attended  to 
the  farm,  but  fought  shy  of  the  inn  and  its  busi- 
ness. 

"Take  it,  lass,  and  welcome  for  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Vint,  pettishly. 

Mercy  took  the  wine  in,  and  found  Griffith 
with  his  head  buried  in  his  hands. 

She  stood  a  while  with  the  tray,  not  knowing 
what  to  do. 

Then,  as  he  did  not  move,  she  said,  softly, 
' '  The  wine,  sir,  an  if  it  please  you. " 

Griffith  lifted  his  head,  and  turned  two  eyes> 
clouded  with  suffering  upon  her ;  he  saw  a  bux- 
om,', blooming  young  woman,  with  remarkably 
dove-like  eyes,  that  dwelt  with  timid,  kindly  cu- 
riosity upon  him.  He  looked  at  her  in  a  half 
distracted  way,  and  then  put  his  hand  to  the 
mug.  "Here's  perdition  to  all  false  women!" 
said  he,  and  tossed  half  the  wine  down  at  a  sin- 
gle draught. 

"  'Tis  not  to  me  you  drink,  sir,"  said  Mercy, 
with,  gentle  dignity.  Then  she  courtesied  mod- 
estly and  retired,  discouraged,  not  offended. 

The  wretched  Griffith  took  no  notice — did  not 
even  see  he  had  repulsed  a  friendly  visitor.  The 
wine,  taken  on  an  empty  stomach,  soon  stupefied 
him,  and  he  staggered  to  bed. 

He  awoke  at  daybreak ;  and  oh !  the  agony 
of  that  waking. 

He  lay  sighing  a  while,  with  his  hot  skin  quiv- 
ering on  his  bones,  and  his  heart  like  lead ;  then 
got  up  and  flung  his  clothes  on  hastily,  and  asked 
how  far  to  the  nearest  sea-port. 

Twenty  miles. 

He  called  for  his  horse.  The  poor  brute  was 
dead  lame. 

He  cursed  that  good  servant  for  going  lame. 
He  walked  round  and  round  like  a  wild  beast, 
chafing  and  fuming  a  while,  then  sank  into  a  tor- 
por of  dejection,  and  sat  with  his  head  bowed  on 
the  table  all  day. 

He  ate  scarcely  any  food,  but  drank  wine  free- 
ly, remarking,  however,  that  it  was  false-hearted 
stuff ;  did  him  no  good  ;  and  had  no  taste  as 
wine  used  to  have.  "But  nothing  is  what  it 
was,"  said  he.  "  Even  I  was  happy  once.  But 
that  seems  years  ago." 

"Alas  !  poor  gentleman  ;  God  comfort  you," 
said  Mercy  Vint,  and  came  with  the  tears  in  her 
dove-like  eves,  and  said  to  her  father,  "To  be 
sure  his  worship  hath  been  crossed  in  love  ;  and 


7G 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


what  could  she  be  thinking  of?  Such  a  hand- 
some, well-made  gentleman !" 

"Now  that  is  a  wench's  first  thought,"  said 
Harry  Vint :  "  more  likely  lost  his  money  gam- 
bling or  racing.  But,  indeed,  I  think  'tis  his 
head  is  disordered,  not  his  heart.  I  wish  the 
'  Packhorse'  was  quit  of  him,  maugre  his  laced 
coat.     We  want  no  kill-joys  here." 

That  night  he  was  heard  groaning  and  talk- 
ing, and  did  not  come  down  at  all. 

So  at  noon  Mrs.  Vint  knocked  at  his  door  :  a 
weak  voice  bade  her  enter  ;  she  found  him  shiv- 
ering, and  he  asked  her  for  a  fire. 

She  grumbled,  out  of  hearing,  but  lighted  a 
fire. 

Presently  his  voice  was  heard  hallooing :  he 
wanted  all  the  windows  open,  he  was  so  burning 
hot. 

The  landlady  looked  at  him,  and  saw  his  face 
was  flushed  and  swollen,  and  he  complained  of 
pain  in  all  his  bones.  She  opened  the  windows, 
and  asked  him  would  he  have  a  doctor  sent  for  : 
he  shook  his  head  contemptuously. 

However,  toward  evening  he  became  delirious, 
and  raved  and  tossed,  and  rolled  his  head  as  if  it 
was  an  intolerable  weight  he  wanted  to  get  rid  of. 

The  females  of  the  family  were  for  sending  at 
once  for  a  doctor,  but  the  prudent  Harry  de- 
murred. 

"Tell  me  first  who  is  to  pay  the  fee,"  said  he. 
"  I've  seen  a  fine  coat  with  the  pockets  empty 
before  to-day." 

The  women  set  up  their  throats  at  him  with 
one  accord,  each  after  her  kind. 

"Out,  fie!"  said  Mercy;  "are  we  to  do 
naught  for  charity  ?" 

"  Why,  there's  his  horse,  ye  foolish  man,"  said 
Mrs.  Vint. 

"  Ay,  ye  are  both  wiser  than  me,"  said  Harry 
Vint,  ironically.  And  soon  after  that  he  went 
out  softly. 

The  next  minute  he  was  in  the  sick  man's 
room,  examining  his  pockets.  To  his  infinite 
surprise,  he  found  twenty  gold  pieces,  a  quantity 
of  silver,  and  some  trinkets. 

He  spread  them  all  out  on  the  table  and  gloat- 
ed on  them  with  greedy  eyes.  They  looked  so 
inviting  that  he  said  to  himself  they  would  be 
safer  in  his  custody  than  in  that  of  a  delirious 
person,  who  was  even  now  raving  incoherently 
before  him,  and  could  not  see  what  he  was  do- 
ing. He  therefore  proceeded  to  transfer  them 
to  his  own  care. 

On  the  way  to  his  pocket,  his  shaking  hand 
was  arrested  by  another  hand,  soft,  but  firm  as 
iron.  He  shuddered,  and  looked  round  in  abject 
terror ;  and  there  was  his  daughter's  face,  pale 
as  his  own,  but  full  of  resolution.  ' '  Nay,  father, " 
said  she,  "/must  take  charge  of  these,  and  well 
do  you  know  why. " 

These  simple  words  cowed  Harry  Vint,  so  that 
he  instantly  resigned  the  money  and  jewels,  and 
retired,  muttering  that  "things  were  come  to  a 
pretty  pass" — "  a  man  was  no  longer  master  in 
his  own  house,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

While  he  inveighed  against  the  degeneracy  of 
the  age,  the  women  paid  no  more  attention  than 
the  age  did,  but  just  sent  for  the  doctor.  He 
came,  and  bled  the  patient.  This  gave  him  a 
momentary  relief;  but  when,  in  the  natural  prog- 
ress of  the  disease,  sweating  and  weakness  came 
on,  the  loss  of  the  precious  vital  fluid  was  fatal, 


and  the  patient's  pulse  became  scarce  perceptible. 
There  he  lay,  with  wet  hair,  and  gleaming  eyes, 
and  haggard  face,  at  death's  door. 

An  experienced  old  crone  was  got  to  nurse 
him,  and  she  told  Mrs.  Vint  he  would  live  maybe 
three  days. 

Paul  Carrick  used  to  come  to  the  ' '  Pack- 
horse"  to  see  Mercy  Vint,  and,  finding  her  sad, 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter. 

"What  should  it  be,"  said  she,  "but  the  poor 
gentleman  a- dying  overhead,  away  from  all  his 
friends. " 

"  Let  me  see  him,"  said  Paul. 

Mercy  took  him  softly  into  the  room. 

"  Ay,  he  is  booked,"  said  the  farrier.  "  Doc- 
tor has  taken  too  much  blood  out  of  the  man's 
body.     They  kill  a  many  that  way. " 

' '  Alack,  Paul !  must  he  die  ?  Can  naught  be 
done  ?"  said  Mercy,  clasping  her  hands. 

"I  don't  say  that,  neither,"  said  the  farrier. 
"He  is  a  well-made  man  —  he  is  young,  i" 
might  save  him,  perhaps,  if  I  had  not  so  many 
beasts  to  look  to.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do. 
Make  him  soup  as  strong  as  strong ;  have  him 
watched  night  and  day,  and  let  'em  put  a  spoon- 
ful of  warm  wine  into  him  every  hour,  and  then 
of  soup ;  egg  flip  is  a  good  thing  too ;  change 
his  bed-linen,  and  keep  the  doctors  from  him ; 
that  is  his  only  chance :  he  is  fairly  dying  of 
weakness.  But  I  must  be  off.  Farmer  Blake's 
cow  is  down  for  calving;  I  must  give  her  an 
ounce  of  salts  before  'tis  too  late." 

Mercy  Vint  scanned  the  patient  closely,  and 
saw  that  Paul  Carrick  was  right.  She  followed 
his  instructions  to  the  letter,  with  one  exception. 
Instead  of  trusting  to  the  old  woman,  of  whom 
she  had  no  very  good  opinion,  she  had  the  great 
arm-chair  brought  into  the  sick-room,  and 
watched  the  patient  herself  by  night  and  day. 
A  gentle  hand  cooled  his  temples  ;  a  gentle  hand 
brought  concentrated  nourishment  to  his  lips ; 
and  a  mellow  voice  coaxed  him  to  be  good  and 
swallow  it.  There  are  voices  it  is  not  natural  to 
resist,  and  Griffith  learned  by  degrees  to  obey 
this  one,  even  when  he  was  half  unconscious. 

At  the  end  of  three  days  this  zealous  young 
nurse  thought  she  discerned  a  slight  improve- 
ment, and  told  her  mother  so.  Then  the  old 
lady  came  and  examined  the  patient,,  and  shook 
her  head  gravely.  Her  judgment,  like  her  daugh- 
ter's, was  influenced  by  her  wishes. 

The  fact  is,  both  landlord  and  landlady  were 
now  calculating  upon  Griffith's  decease.  Harry 
had  told  her  about  the  money  and  jewels,  and 
the  pair  had  put  their  heads  together,  and  settled 
that  Griffith  was  a  gentleman  highwayman,  and 
his  spoil  would  never  be  reclaimed  after  his  de- 
cease, but  fall  to  those  good  Samaritans  who 
were  n&w  nursing  him,  and  intended  to  bury  him 
respectably.  The  future  being  thus  settled,  this 
worthy  couple  became  a  little  impatient;  for 
Griffith,  like  Charles  the  Second,  was  "an  un- 
conscionable time  dying." 

We  order  dinner  to  hasten  a  lingering  guest, 
and,  with  equal  force  of  logic,  mine  host  of  the 
"Packhorse"  spoke  to  White,  the  village  carpen- 
ter, about  a  full-sized  coffin,  and  his  wife  set  the 
old  crone  to  make  a  linen,  shroud,  unobtrusively, 
in  the  bake-house. 

On  the  third  afternoon  of  her  nursing  Mercy 
left  her  patient,  and  called  up  the  crone  to  tend 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


77 


him.  She  herself,  worn  out  with  fatigue,  threw 
herself  on  a  bed  in  her  mother's  room  hard  by, 
and  soon  fell  asleep. 

She  had  slept  about  two  hours  when  she  was 
wakened  by  a  strange  noise  in  the  sick-chamber 
— a  man  and  a  woman  quarreling. 

She  bounded  oft'  the  bed,  and  was  in  the  room 
directly. 

Lo  and  behold,  there  were  the  nurse  and  the 
dying  man  abusing  one  another  like  pick- 
pockets. 

The  cause  of  this  little  misunderstanding  was 
not  far  to  seek.  The  old  crone  had  brought  up 
her  work,  videlicet  a  winding-sheet  all  but  fin- 
ished, and  certain  strips  of  glazed  muslin  about 
three  inches  deep.  She  soon  completed  the 
winding-sheet,  and  hung  it  over  two  chairs  in 
the  patient's  sight ;  she  then  proceeded  to  double 
the  slips  in  six,  and  nick  them ;  then  she  unrolled 
them,  and  they  were  frills,  and  well  adapted  to 
make  the  coming  corpse  absurd,  and  divest  it  of 
any  little  dignity  the  King  of  Terrors  might  be- 
stow on  it. 

She  was  so  intent  upon  her  congenial  task  that 
she  did  not  observe  the  sick  man  had  awakened, 
and  was  viewing  her  and  her  work  with  an  intel- 
ligent but  sinister  eye. 

"What  is  that  you  are  making?"  said  he, 
grimly. 

The  voice  was  rather  clear  and  strong,  and 
seemed  so  loud  and  strange  in  that  still  chamber 
that  it  startled  the  woman  mightily.  She  uttered 
a  little  shriek,  and  then  was  wroth.  "  Plague 
take  the  man !"  said  she ;  "  how  you  scared  me. 
Keep  quiet,  do,  and  mind  your  own  business." 
[The  business  of  going  off  the  hooks.] 

"  I  ask  you  what  is  that  you  are  making,"  said 
Griffith,  louder,  and  raising  himself  on  his  arm. 

"  Baby's  frills,"  replied  the  woman,  coolly,  re- 
covering that  contempt  for  the  understandings 
of  the  dying  which  marks  the  veritable  crone. 

"Ye  lie!"  said  Griffith.  "And  there  is  a 
shroud.     Who  is  that  for  ?" 

"Who  should  it  be  for,  thou  simple  body? 
Keep  quiet,  do,  till  the  change  comes.  'Twon't 
be  long  now ;  art  too  well  to  last  till  sundown." 

"So  'tis  for  me,  is  it?"  screamed  Griffith. 
"I'll  disappoint  ye  yet.  Give  me  my  clothes. 
I'll  not  lie  here  to  be  measured  for  my  grave,  ye 
old  witch." 

"  Here's  manners !"  cackled  the  indignant 
crone.  "Ye  foul-mouthed  knave,  is  this  how 
you  thank  a  decent  woman  for  making  a  com- 
fortable corpse  of  ye,  you  that  has  no  right  to 
die  in  your  shoes,,  let  a  be  such  dainties  as  mus- 
lin neck-ruff,  and  shroud  of  good  Dutch  flax  ?" 

At  this  Griffith  discharged  a  volley,  in  which 
"vulture,"  "hag,"  "  blood-sucker, "  etc. ,  blended 
with  as  many  oaths,  during  which  Mercy  came 
in. 

She  glided  to  him  with  her  dove's  eyes  full  of 
concern,  and  laid  her  hand  gently  on  his  shoul- 
der. "You'll  work  yourself  a  mischief,"  said 
she;  "leave  me  to  scold  her.  Why,  my  good 
Nelly,  how  could  you  be  so  hare-brained? 
Prithee  take  all  that  trumpery  away  this  min- 
ute ;  none  here  needeth  it,  nor  shall  not  this 
many  a  year,  please  God." 

"They  want  me  dead,"  said  Griffith  to  her, 
piteously,  finding  he  had  got  one  friend,  and  sunk 
back  on  his  pillow  exhausted. 

"  So  it  seems, "  said  Mercy,  cunningly.    ' '  But 


I'd  balk  them  finely.  I'd  up  and  order  a  beef- 
steak this  minute." 

"And  shall,"  said  Griffith,  with  feeble  spite. 
"  Leastways  do  you  order  it,  and  I'll  eat  it — 
d — n  her !" 

Sick  men  are  like  children,  and  women  soon 
find  that  out,  and  manage  them  accordingly.  In 
ten  minutes  Mercy  brought  a  good  rump-steak 
to  the  bedside,  and  said,  "Now  for't.  Marry 
come  up,  with  her  winding-sheets !" 

Thus  played  upon  and  encouraged,  the  great 
baby  ate  more  than  half  the  steak,  and  soon  after 
perspired  gently  and  fell  asleep. 

Paul  Carrick  found  him  breathing  gently,  with 
a  slight  tint  of  red  in  his  cheek,  and  told  Mercy 
there  was  a  change  for  the  better.  ' '  We  have 
brought  him  to  a  true  intermission,"  said  he, "  so 
throw  in  the  bark  at  once." 

"What,  drench  his  honor's  worship!"  said 
Mercy,  innocently.  "  Nay,  send  thou  the  medi- 
cine, and  I'll  find  womanly  ways  to  get  it  down 
him. " 

Next  day  came  the  doctor,  and  whispered  soft- 
ly to  Mrs.  Vint,  "  How  are  we  all  up  stairs  ?" 

"  Why  couldn't  you  come  afore?"  replied  Mrs. 
Vint,  crossly.  "Here's  farrier  Carrick  stepped 
in,  and  curing  him  out  of  hand — the  meddlesome 
body." 

"  A  farrier  rob  me  of  my  patient !"  cried  the 
doctor,  in  high  dudgeon. 

"Nay,  good  sir, 'tis  no  fault  of  mine.  This 
Paul  is  a  sort  of  a  kind  of  a  follower  of  our  Mer- 
cy's, and  she  is  mistress  here,  I  trow." 

' '  And  what  hath  his  farriership  prescribed  ? 
Friar's  balsam,  belike." 

' '  Nay,  I  know  not ;  but  you  may  soon  learn, 
for  he  is  above,  physicking  the  gentleman  (a  pret- 
ty gentleman !),  and  suiting  to  our  Mercy — after 
a  manner. " 

The  doctor  declined  to  make  one  in  so  mixed 
a  consultation. 

"  Give  me  my  fee,  dame,"  said  he;  "and  as 
for  this  impertinent  farrier,  the  patient's  blood  be 
on  his  head ;  and  I'd  have  him  beware  the  law. " 

Mrs.  Vint  went  to  the  stair-foot,  and  screamed, 
"Mercy,  the  good  doctor  wants  his  fee.  Who 
is  to  pay  it,  I  wonder  ?" 

"  I'll  bring  it  him  anon,"  said  a  gentle  voice; 
and  Mercy  soon  came  down  and  paid  it  with  a 
willing  air  that  half  disarmed  professional  fury. 

"  !Tis  a  good  lass,  dame,"  said  the  doctor, 
when  she  was  gone ;  "  and,  by  the  same  token, 
I  wish  her  better  mated  than  to  a  scrub  of  a 
farrier." 

Griffith,  still  weak,  but  freed  of  fever,  woke  one 
glorious  afternoon,  and  heard  a  bird-like  voice 
humming  a  quaint  old  ditty,  and  saw  a  field  of 
golden  wheat  through  an  open  window,  and  seat- 
ed at  that  window  the  mellow  songstress,  Mercy 
Vint,  plying  her  needle,  with  lowered  lashes  but 
beaming  face,  a  picture  of  health  and  quiet  wom- 
anly happiness.  Things  were  going  to  her  mind 
in  that  sick-room. 

He  looked  at  her,  and  at  the  golden  corn  and 
summer  haze  beyond,  and  the  tide  of  life  seemed 
to  rush  back  upon  him. 

"  My  good  lass,"  said  he,  "  tell  me  where  am 
I,  for  I  know  not. " 

Mercy  started  and  left  off  singing,  then  rose 
and  came  slowly  toward  him,  with  her  work  iu 
her  hand. 


78 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


Innocent  joy  at  this  new  symptom  of  conva- 
lescence flushed  her  comely  features,  but  she 
spoke  low. 

"Good  sir,  at  the  'Packhorse,'"  said  she, 
smiling. 

" The  '  Packhorse,'  and  where  is  that?" 

"  Hard  by  Allerton  village." 

1  'And  where  is  that — not  in  Cumberland?" 

"Nay,  in  Lancashire,  your  worship.  Why, 
whence  come  you,  that  know  not  the  '  Pack- 
horse,  '  nor  yet  Allerton  township  ?  Come  you 
from  Cumberland  ?" 

"No  matter  whence  I  come.  I'm  going  on 
board  ship,  like  my  father  before  me." 

"Alas!  sir,  you  are  not  fit;  you  have  been 
very  ill,  and  partly  distraught." 

She  stopped,  for  Griffith  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall  with  a  deep  groan.  It  had  all  rushed  »over 
him  in  a  moment. 

Mercy  stood  still  and  worked  on,  but  the  wa- 
ter gathered  in  her  eyes  at  that  eloquent  groan. 

By-and-by  Griffith  turned  round  again,  with  a 
face  of  anguish,  and  filmy  eyes,  and  saw  her  in 
the  same  place  standing,  working,  and  pitying. 

"What,  are  you  there  still  ?"  said  he,  roughly. 

"Ay,  sir;  but  I'll  go  sooner  than  be  trouble- 
some.    Can  I  fetch  you  any  thing  ?" 

"  No.  Ay,  wine ;  bring  me  wine  to  drown  it 
all." 

She  brought  him  a  pint  of  wine. 

"Pledge  me,"  said  he,  with  a  miserable  at- 
tempt at  a  smile. 

She  put  the  cup  to  her  lips  and  sipped  a  drop 
or  two,  but  her  dove's  eyes  were  looking  up  at 
him  over  the  liquor  all  the  time.  Griffith  soon 
disposed  of  the  rest,  and  asked  for  more. 

"  Nay,"  said  she,  "  but  I  dare  not ;  the  doc- 
tor hath  forbidden  excess  in  drinking." 

"The  doctor!  what  doctor?" 

"Doctor  Paul,"  said  she,  demurely.  "He 
hath  saved  your  life,  sir,  I  do  think." 

"Plague  take  him  for  that !" 

"So  say  not  I." 

Here  she  left  him  with  an  excuse.  ' '  'Tis 
milking  time,  sir,  and  you  shall  know  that  I  am 
our  dairy-maid.     I  seldom  trouble  the  inn. " 

Next  day  she  was  on  the  window-seat  working 
and  beaming.  The  patient  called  to  her  in  pee- 
vish accents  to  put  his  head  higher.  She  laid 
down  her  work  with  a  smile,  and  came  and  raised 
his  head. 

"There,  now,  that  is  too  high,"  said  he; 
"how  awkward  you  are  !" 

"I  lack  experience,  sir,  but  not  good  will. 
There,  now,  is  that  a  little  better  ?" 

"  Ay,  a  little.  I'm  sick  of  lying  here ;  I  want 
to  get  up.  Dost  hear  what  I  say  ?  I — want — 
to  get  up." 

"  And  so  you  shall,  as  soon  as  ever  you  are  fit. 
To-morrow,  perhaps.  To-day  you  must  e'en  be 
patient.     Patience  is  a  rare  medicine. " 

Tic,  tic,  tic!  "What  a  noise  they  are  mak- 
ing down  stairs.  Go,  lass,  and  "bid  them  hold 
their  peace." 

Mercy  shook  her  head.  "  Good  lack-a-day  ! 
we  might  as  well  bid  the  river  give  over  running ; 
but,  to  be  sure,  this  comes  of  keeping  a  hostelry, 
sir.  When  we  had  only  the  farm,  we  were  quiet, 
and  did  no  ill  to  no  one. " 

"  Well,  sing  me,  to  drown  their  eternal  buzz- 
ing ;  it  worries  me  dead." 


"Me  sing!    Alack,  sir,  I'm  no  songster.'" 

"That  is  false.  You  sing  like  a  throstle.  I 
dote  on  music ;  and,  when  I  was  delirious,  I 
heard  one  singing  about  my  bed;  I  thought  it 
was  an  angel  at  that  time,  but  'twas  only  you,  my 
young  mistress ;  and,  now  I  ask  you,  you  say  me 
nay.  That  is  the  way  with  you  all.  Plague  take 
the  girl,  and  all  her  cursed,  unreasonable,  hypo- 
critical sex.  I  warrant  me  you'd  sing  if  I  want- 
ed to  sleep,  and  dance  the  devil  to  a  standstill." 

Mercy,  instead  of  flouncing  out  of  the  room, 
stood  looking  on  him  with  maternal  eyes,  and 
chuckling  like  a  bird. 

"  That  is  right,  sir ;  tax  us  all  to  your  heart's 
content.  Oh,  but  I'm  a  joyful  woman  to  hear 
you,  for  'tis  a  sure  sign  of  mending  when  the  sick 
take  to  rating  of  their  nurses. " 

"  In  sooth,  I  am  too  cross-grained,"  said  Grif- 
fith, relenting. 

"  Not  a  whit,  sir,  for  my  taste.  I've  been  in 
care  for  you,  and  now  you  are  a  little  cross,  that 
maketh  me  easy." 

"  Thou  art  a  good  soul.  Wilt  sing  me  a  stave 
after  all?" 

"La  you  now,  how  you  come  back  to  that! 
Ay,  and  with  a  good  heart ;  for,  to  be  sure,  'tis  a 
sin  to  gainsay  a  sick  man.  But,  indeed,  I  am 
the  homeliest  singer.  Methinks  'tis  time  I  went 
down  and  bade  them  cook  your  worship's  sup- 
per. " 

"  Nay,  I'll  not  eat  nor  sup  till  I  hear  thee 
sing." 

"  Your  will  is  my  law,  sir,"  said  Mercy,  dryly, 
and  retired  to  the  window-seat ;  that  was  the  first 
obvious  preliminary.  Then  she  fiddled  with  her 
apron,  and  hemmed,  and  waited  in  hopes  a  re- 
prieve might  come ;  but  a  peevish,  relentless 
voice  demanded  the  song  at  intervals. 

So  then  she  turned  her  head  carefully  away 
from  her  hearer,  lowered  her  eyes,  and,  looking 
the  picture  of  guilt  and  shame  all  the  time,  sang 
an  ancient  ditty.  The  poltroon's  voice  was  rich, 
mellow,  clear,  and  sweet  as  honey,  and  she  sang 
the  notes  for  the  sake  of  the  words,  not  the  words 
for  the  sake  of  the  notes,  as  all  but  Nature's 
singers  do. 

The  air  was  grave  as  well  as  sweet ;  for  Mercy 
was  of  an  old  Puritan  stock,  and  even  her  songs 
Avere  not  giddy-paced,  but  solid,  quaint,  and  ten- 
der :  all  the  more  did  they  reach  the  soul. 

In  vain  was  the  blushing  cheek  averted,  and 
the  honeyed  lips :  the  ravishing  tones  set  the 
birds  chirping  outside,  yet  filled  the  room  with- 
in, and  the  glasses  rang  in  harmony  upon  the 
shelf  as  the  sweet  singer  poured  out  from  her 
heart  (so  it  seemed)  the  speaking  song  that  be- 
gins thus : 

"  Iu  vain  you  tell  your  parting  lover 
You  wish  fair  winds  may  waft  Mm  over. 
Alas  !  what  winds  can  happy  prove 
That  bear  me  far  from  her  I  love  ? 
Alas  !  what  dangers  on  the  main 
Can  equal  those  that  I  sustain 
From  slighted  love  and  cold  disdain." 

Griffith  beat  time  with  his  hand  a  while,  and 
his  own  face  softened  and  beautified  as  the  mel- 
ody curled  about  his  heart.  But  soon  it  was  too 
much  for  him ;  he  knew  the  song — had  sung  it 
to  Kate  Peyton  in  their  days  of  courtship.  A 
thousand  memories  gushed  in  upon  his  soul  and 
overpowered  him.  He  burst  out  sobbing  violent- 
ly, and  wept  as  if  his  heart  must  break. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


79 


"Alas!  what  have  I  done?"  said  Mercy;  and 
the  tears  ran  swiftly  from  her  eyes  at  the  sight. 
Then,  with  native  delicacy,  she  hurried  from  the 
room. 

What  Griffith  went  through  that  night  in  si- 
lence was  never  known  but  to  himself.  But  the 
next  morning  he  was  a  changed  man.  He  was 
all  dogged  resolution  ;  put  on  his  clothes  unaid- 
ed, though  he  could  hardly  stand  to  do  it ;  and 
borrowed  the  landlord's  staff,  and  crawled  out  a 
smart  distance  into  the  sun.  "  It  was  kill  or 
cure,"  said  he.  "  I  am  to  live,  it  seems.  Well, 
then,  the  past  is  dead.  My  life  begins  again  to- 
day. " 

Hen-like  Mercy  soon  learned  this  sally  of  her 
refractory  duckling,  and  was  uneasy.  So,  for  an 
excuse  to  watch  him,  she  brought  him  out  his 
money  and  jewels,  and  told  him  she  had  thought 
it  safest  to  take  charge  of  them. 

He  thanked  her  cavalierly,  and  offered  her  a 
diamond  ring. 

She  blushed  scarlet  and  declined  it,  and  even 
turned  a  meekly  reproachful  glance  on  him  with 
her  dove's  eyes. 

He  had  a  suit  of  russet  made,  and  put  away 
his  fine  coat,  and  forbade  any  one  to  call  him 
"Your  worship."  "I  am  a  farmer  like  your- 
selves, "said  he,  "and  my  name  is — Thomas 
Leicester." 

A  brain  fever  either  kills  the  unhappy  lover, 
or  else  benumbs  the  very  anguish  that  caused  it. 

And  so  it  was  with  Griffith.  His  love  got  be- 
numbed, and  the  sense  of  his  wrongs  vivid.  He 
nursed  a  bitter  hatred  of  his  wife ;  only,  as  he 
could  not  punish  her  without  going  near  her, 
and  no  punishment  short  of  death  .seemed  enough 
for  her,  he  set  to  work  to  obliterate  her  from  his 
very  memory,  if  possible.  He  tried  employment. 
He  pottered  about  the  little  farm,  advising  and 
helping,  and  that  so  zealously  that  the  landlord 
retired  altogether  from  that  department,  and 
Griffith,  instead  of  he,  became  Mercy's  ally,  agri- 
cultural and  bucolical.  She  was  a  shepherdess 
to  the  core,  and  hated  the  poor  "  Packhorse." 

For  all  that,  it  was  her  fate  to  add  to  its  at- 
tractions ;  for  Griffith  bought  a  viol  de  gambo, 
and  taught  her  sweet  songs,  which  he  accompa- 
nied with  such  skill,  and  sometimes  with  his 
voice,  that  good  company  often  looked  in  on  the 
chance  of  a  good  song  sweetly  sung  and  played. 

The  sick  in  body  or  mind  are  egotistical. 
Griffith  was  no  exception.  Bent  on  curing  his 
own  deep  wound,  he  never  troubled  his  head 
about  the  wound  he  might  inflict. 

He  was  grateful  to  his  sweet  nurse,  and  told 
her  so ;  and  his  gratitude  charmed  her  all  the 
more  that  it  had  been  rather  long  m  coming. 

He  found  this  dove-like  creature  a  wonderful 
soother :  he  applied  her  more  and  more  to  his 
sore  heart. 

As  for  Mercy,  she  had  been  too  good  and  kind 
to  her  patient  not  to  take  a  tender  interest  in  his 
convalescence.  Our  hearts  warm  more  to  those 
we  have  been  kind  to  than  to  those  who  have 
been  kind  to  us ;  and  the  female  reader  can  ea- 
sily imagine  what  delicious  feelings  stole  into 
that  womanly  heart  when  she  saw  her  pale  nurs- 
ling pick  up  health  and  strength  under  her  wing, 
and  become  the  finest,  handsomest  man  in  the 
parish. 


Pity  and  admiration ;  where  these  meet,  love 
is  not  far  behind. 

And  then  this  man,  who  had  been  cross  and 
rough  while  he  was  weak,  became  gentler,  kind- 
er, and  more  deferential  to  her  the  stronger  he 
got. 

Mrs.  Vint  saw  they  were  both  fond  of  each 
other's  company,  and  disapproved  it.  She  told 
Paul  Carrick  if  he  had  any  thought  of  Mercy  he 
had  better  give  over  shilly-shallying,  for  there 
was  another  man  after  her.  Paul  made  light  of 
it  at  first.  "  She  has  known  me  too  long  to  take 
up  her  head  with  a  new-comer,"  said  he.  "To 
be  sure  I  never  asked  her  to  name  the  day,  but 
she  knows  my  mind  well  enough,  and  I  know 
hers." 

"Then  you  know  more  than  I  do,"  said  the 
mother,  ironically. 

He  thought  over  this  conversation,  and  very 
wisely  determined  not  to  run  unnecessary  risks. 
He  came  up  one  afternoon,  and  hunted  about  for 
Mercy  till  he  found  her  milking  a  cow  in  the 
adjoining  paddock. 

' '  Well,  lass, "  said  he, ' '  I've  good  news  for  thee. 
My  old  dad  says  we  may  have  his  house  to  live 
in,  so  now  you  and  I  can  yoke  next  month,  if  ye 
will." 

"  Me  turn  the  honest  man  out  of  his  house !" 
said  Mercy,  mighty  innocently. 

"  Who  asks  you  ?  He  nobbut  bargains  for  the 
chimney  corner,  and  you  are  not  the  girl  to  be- 
grudge the  old  man  that." 

"  Oh  no,  Paul.  But  what  would  father  do  if 
I  were  to  leave  his  house?  Methinks  the  farm 
would  go  to  rack  and  ruin,  he  is  so  wrapped  up 
in  his  nasty  public." 

"  Why,  he  has  got  a  helper,  by  all  accounts  • 
and,  if  you  talk  like  that,  vou  will  never  wed  at 
all." 

"  Never  is  a  big  word.  But  I  am  too  young 
to  marry  yet.     Jenny,  thou  jade,  stand  still." 

The  attack  and  defense  proceeded  upon  these 
terms  for  some  time,  and  the  defendant  had  one 
base  advantage,  and  used  it.  Her  forehead  was 
wedged  tight  against  Jenny's  ribs,  and  Paul  could 
not  see  her  face.  This,  and  the  feminine  evasive- 
ness of  her  replies,  irritated  him  at  last. 

"Take  thy  head  out  o'  the  coow,"  said  he, 
roughly,  "  and  answer  straight.  Is  all  our  woo- 
ing to  go  for  naught  ?" 

' '  Wooing  ?  You  never  said  so  much  to  me  in 
all  these  years  as  you  have  to-day." 

' '  Oh,  ye  knew  my  mind  well  enough.  There's 
a  many  ways  of  showing  the  heart." 

"  Speaking  out  is  the  best,  I  trow." 

' '  Why,  what  do  I  come  here  for  twice  a  week, 
this  two  years  past,  if  not  for  thee  ?" 

"Ay,  for  me  and  father's  ale." 

"And  thou  canst  look  at  me  and  tell  me  that  ? 
Ye  false, hard-hearted  hussy.  But  nay,  thou  wast 
never  so ;  'tis  this  Thomas  Leicester  hath  be- 
witched thee,  and  set  thee  against  thy  true 
lover." 

"  Mr.  Leicester  pays  no  suit  to  me,"  said  Mer- 
cy, blushing  :  "  he  is  a  right  civil-spoken  gentle- 
man, and  you  know  you  saved  his  life." 

"The  more  fool  I.  I  wish  I  had  known  he 
was  going  to  rob  me  of  my  lass's  heart,  I'd  have 
seen  him  die  a  hundred  times  ere  I'd  have  inter- 
fered. But  they  say  if  you  save  a  man's  life 
hell  make  you  rue  it.  Mercy,  my  lass,  you  are 
well  respected  in  the  parish ;   take  a  thought 


80 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


now:   better  be  a  farrier's  wife  than  a  gentle- 
man's mistress." 

Mercy  did  take  her  head  "  out  of  the  cow" 
at  this,  and  for  once  her  cheek  burned  with  an- 
ger ;  but  the  unwonted  sentiment  died  before  it 
could  find  words,  and  she  said  quietly, ' '  I  need 
not  be  either,  against  my  will. " 

Young  Carrick  made  many  such  appeals  to 
Mercy  Vint,  but  he  could  never  bring  her  to  con- 
fess to  him  that  he  and  she  had  ever  been  more 
than  friends,  or  were  now  any  thing  less  than 
friends.  Still  he  forced  her  to  own  to  herself 
that,  if  she  had  never  seen  Thomas  Leicester, 
her  quiet  affection  and  respect  for  Carrick  would 
probably  have  carried  her  to  the  altar  with  him. 

His  remonstrances,  sometimes  angry,  some- 
times tearful,  awoke  her  pity,  which  was  the 
grand  sentiment  of  her  heart,  and  disturbed  her 
peace. 

Moreover,  she  studied  the  two  men  in  her 
quiet,  thoughtful  way,  and  saw  that  Carrick 
loved  her  with  all  his  honest,  though  hitherto 
tepid  heart ;  but  Griffith  had  depths,  and  could 
love  with  more  passion  than  ever  he  had  shown 
for  her.  "  He  is  not  the  man  to  have  a  fever  by 
reason  of  me,"  said  the  poor  girl  to  herself.  But 
I  am  afraid  even  this  attracted  her  to  Griffith  ;  it 
nettled  a  woman's  soft  ambition,  which  is,  to  be 
as  well  loved  as  ever  woman  was. 

And  so  things  went  on,  and,  as  generally  hap- 
pens, the  man  who  was  losing  ground  went  the 
rery  way  to  lose  more.  He  spoke  ill  of  Griffith 
behind  his  back;  called  him  a  highwayman,  a 
gentleman,  an  ungrateful,  undermining  traitor. 
But  Griffith  never  mentioned  Carrick ;  and  so, 
when  he  and  Mercy  were  together,  her  old  fol- 
lower was  pleasingly  obliterated,  and  affection- 
ate good-humor  reigned.  Thus  Griffith,  alias 
Thomas,  became  her  sunbeam,  and  Paul  her 
cloud. 

But  he  who  had  disturbed  the  peace  of  oth- 
ers, his  own  turn  came. 

One  day  he  found  Mercy  crying.  He  sat 
down  beside  her,  and  said  kindly,  "  Why,  sweet- 
heart, what  is  amiss  ?" 

"No  great  matter,"  said  she,  and  turned  her 
head  away,  but  did  not  check  her  tears,  for  it 
was  new  and  pleasant  to  be  consoled  by  Thomas 
Leicester." 

"  Nay,  but  tell  me,  child." 

"  Well,  then,  Jessie  Carrick  has  been  at  me — 
that  is  all." 

" The  vixen !  what  did  she  say?" 

"Nay,  I'm  not  pleased  enow  with  it  to  repeat 
it.     She  did  cast  something  in  my  teeth." 

Griffith  pressed  her  to  be  more  explicit.  She 
declined  with  so  many  blushes  that  his  curiosity 
was  awakened,  and  he  told  Mrs.  Vint,  with  some 
heat,  that  Jess  Carrick  had  been  making  Mercy 
cry. 

' ' Like  enow,"  said  Mrs. Vint,  coolly.  "She'll 
eat  her  victuals  all  one  for  that,  please  God." 

"Else  I'll  ring  the  cock-nosed  jade's  neck 
next  time  she  comes  here,"  replied  Griffith; 
"  but,  dame,  I  want  to  know  what  she  can  have 
to  say  to  Mercy  to  make  her  cry." 

Mrs.  Vint  looked  him  steadily  in  the  face  for 
some  time,  and  then  and  there  decided  to  come 
to  an  explanation.  "  Ten  to  one  'tis  about  her 
brother,"  said  she ;  "  you  know  this  Paul  is  our 
Mercy's  sweetheart." 


.  At  these  simple  words  Griffith  winced,  and  his 
countenance  changed  remarkably.  Mrs.  Vint 
observed  it,  and  was  all  the  more  resolved  to 
have  it  out  with  him. 

"  Her  sweetheart !"  said  Griffith.  "  Why,  I 
have  seen  them  together  a  dozen  of  times,  and 
not  a  word  of  courtship." 

"  Oh,  the  young  men  don't  make  many  speech- 
es in  these  parts.    They  show  their  hearts  by  act. " 

"  By  act  ?  Why,  I  met  them  coming  home 
from  milking  t'other  evening.  Mercy  was  car- 
rying the  pail,  brimful,  and  that  oaf  sauntered 
by  her  side,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets ;  was 
that  the  act  of  a  lover  ?" 

"I  heard  of  it,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Vint,  quietly; 
"and  as  how  you  took  the  pail  from  her,  willy 
nilly,  and  carried  it  home.  Mercy  was  vexed 
about  it.  She  told  me  you  panted  at  the  door, 
and  she  was  a  deal  fitter  to  carry  the  pail  than 
you,  that  is  just  off  a  sick-bed,  like.  But  lawk, 
sir,  ye  can't  go  by  the  likes  of  that :  the  bache- 
lors here  they'd  see  their  sweethearts  carry  the 
roof  into  next  parish  on  their  backs,  like  a  snail, 
and  never  put  out  a  hand ;  'tis  not  the  custom 
hereaway.  But,  as  I  was  saying,  Paul  and  our 
Mercy  kept  company  after  a  manner :  he  never 
had  the  wit  to  flatter  her  as  should  be,  nor  the 
stomach  to  bid  her  name  the  day,  and  he'd  buy 
the  ring;  but  he  talked  to  her  about  his  sick 
beasts  more  than  he  did  to  any  other  girl  in  the 
parish,  and  she'd  have  ended  by  going  to  church 
with  him,  only  you  came  and  put  a  coolness 
atween  'em." 

"I!     How?" 

"Well,  sir,  our  Mercy  is  a  kind-hearted  lass, 
though  I  say  it,  and  you  were  sick,  and  she  did 
nurse  you  ;  and  that  was  a  beginning.  And,  to 
be  sure,  you  are  a  fine,  personable  man,  and  capi- 
tal company  ;  and  you  are  always  about  the  girl ; 
and  bethink  you,  sir,  she  is  flesh  and  blood  like 
her  neighbors ;  and  they  say,  once  a  body  has 
tasted  venison  steak,  it  spoils  their  stomach  for 
oat  porridge.  Now  that  is  Mercy's  case,  I'm 
thinking ;  not  that  she  ever  said  as  much  to  me ; 
she  is  too  reserved.  But,  bless  your  heart,  I'm 
forced  to  go  about  with  eyes  in  my  head,  and 
watch  'em  all  a  bit,  me  that  keeps  an  inn." 

Griffith  groaned.      "I'm  a  villain !"  said  he. 

"Nay,  nay,"  said  Mrs.  Vint.  "Gentlefolks 
must  be  amused,  cost  what  it  may ;  but,  hoping 
no  offense,  sir,  the  girl  was  a  good  friend  to  you 
in  time  of  sickness,  and  so  was  this  Paul,  for  that 
matter." 

"She  was,"  cried  Griffith;  "God  bless  her. 
How  can  I  ever  repay  her  ?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Vint,  "if  that  comes 
from  your  heart,  you  might  take  our  Mercy 
apart,  and  tell  her  you  like  her  very  well,  but 
not  enough  to  marry  a  fanner's  daughter — don't 
say  an  inn-keeper's  daughter,  or  you'll  be  sure  to 
offend  her ;  she  is  bitter  against  the  '  Packhorse. ' 
Says  you,  'This  Paul  is  an  honest  lad ;  turn  your 
heart  back  to  him.'  And  with  that,  mount  your 
black  horse  and  ride  away,  and  God  speed  you, 
sir ;  we  shall  often  talk  of  you  at  the  '  Pack- 
horse,'  and  naught  but  good." 

Griffith  gave  the  woman  his  hand,  and  his 
breast  labored  heavily. 

Jealousy  was  ingrained  in  the  man.  Mrs. 
Vint  had  pricked  his  conscience,  but  she  had 
wounded  his  foible. 

He  was  not  in  love  with  Mercy,  but  he  es- 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


81 


teemed  her,  and  liked  her,  and  saw  her  value, 
and,  above  all,  could  not  bear  another  man 
should  have  her. 

Now  this  gave  the  matter  a  new  turn.  Mrs. 
Vint  had  overcome  her  dislike  to  him  long  ago ; 
still,  he  was  not  her  favorite.  But  his  giving 
her  his  hand  with   a  gentle  pressure,  and  his 


write,  and  cast  accounts ;  good  at  hei  sampler, 
and  can  churn  and  make  cheeses,  and  play  of 
the  viol,  and  lead  the  psalm  in  church,  and 
dance  a  minuet,  she  can,  with  any  lady  in  the 
land.  As  to  her  nursing  in  time  of  sickness, 
that  I  leave  to  you,  sir." 

"She  is  an  angel,"  cried  Griffith,  "and  my 


^miiu-'  1    •-.  vvVm  mm® 


manifest  agitation,  rather  won  her ;  and,  as  un- 
educated women  are  your  true  weathercocks, 
she  went  about  directly.  "To  be  sure,"  said 
she, ' '  our  Mercy  is  too  good  for  the  likes  of  him ; 
she  is  not  like  Harry  and  me ;  she  has  been  well 
brought  up  by  her  Aunt  Prudence,  as  was  gov- 
erness in  a  nobleman's  house.     She  can  read  and 


benefactress  :  no  man  living  is  good  enough  for 
her."  And  he  went  away,  visibly  discom- 
posed. 

Mrs.  Vint  repeated  this  conversation  to  Mercy, 
and  told  her  Thomas  Leicester  was  certainly  in 
love  with  her.  "Shouldst  have  seen  his  face, 
girl,  when  I  told  him  Paul  and.  you  were  sweet- 


82 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT :  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


hearts.     'Twas  as  if  I  had  run  a  knife  in  his 
heart." 

Mercy  murmured  a  few  words  of  douht ;  but 
she  kissed  her  mother  eloquently,  and  went  about 
rosy  and  beaming  all  that  afternoon. 

As  for  Griffith,  his  gratitude  and  his  jealousy 
were  now  at  war,  and  caused  him  a  severe  mental 
struggle. 

Carrick,  too,  was  spurred  by  jealousy,  and 
came  every  day  to  the  house,  and  besieged 
Mercy ;  and  Griffith,  who  saw  them  together, 
and  did  not  hear  Mercy's  replies,  was  excited, 
irritated,  alarmed. 

Mrs.  Vint  saw  his  agitation,  and  determined  to 
bring  matters  to  a  climax.  She  was  always  giv- 
ing him  a  side  thrust ;  and  at  last  she  told  him 
plainly  that  he  was  not  behaving  like  a  man. 
"  If  the  girl  is  not  good  enough  for  you,  why 
make  a  fool  of  her,  and  set  her  against  a  good 
husband  ?"  And  when  he  replied  she  was  good 
enough  for  any  man  in  England,  "Then,"  said 
she,  "why  not  show  your  respect  for  her  as  Paul 
Carrick  does  ?  He  likes  her  well  enough  to  go 
to  church  with  her." 

With  the  horns  of  this  dilemma  she  so  gored 
Kate  Peyton's  husband  that,  at  last,  she  and  Paul 
Carrick,  between  them,  drove  him  out  of  his  con- 
science. 

So  he  watched  his  opportunity  and  got  Mercy 
alone.  He  took  her  hand,  and  told  her  he  loved 
her,  and  that  she  was  his  only  comfort  in  the 
world,  and  he  found  he  could  not  live  without  her. 

At  this  she  blushed  and  trembled  a  little,  and 
leaned  her  brow  upon  his  shoulder,  and  was  a 
happy  creature  for  a  few  moments. 

So  far,  fluently  enough ;  but  then  he  began  to 
falter  and  stammer,  and  say  that  for  certain  rea- 
sons he  could  not  marry  at  all.  But  if  she  could 
be  content  with  any  thing  short  of  that,  he  would 
retire  with  her  into  a  distant  country,  and  there, 
where  nobody  could  contradict  him,  would  call 
her  his  wife,  and  treat  her  as  his  wife,  and  pay 
his  debt  of  gratitude  to  her  by  a  life  of  devotion. 

As  he  spoke  her  brow  retired  an  inch  or  two 
from  his  shoulder;  but  she  heard  him  quietly 
out,  and  then  drew  back  and  confronted  him, 
pale,  but  to  all  appearance  calm. 

"Call  things  by  their  right  names,"  said  she. 
"What  you  offer  me  this  day,  in  my  father's 
house,  is  to  be  your  mistress.  Then — God  for- 
give you,  Thomas  Leicester. " 

With  this  oblique  and  feminine  reply,  and  one 
look  of  unfathomable  reproach  from  her  soft  eyes, 
she  turned  her  back  on  him  ;  but,  remembering 
her  manners,  courtesied  at  the  door,  and  so  re- 
tired ;  and  unpretending  Virtue  lent  her  such 
true  dignity  that  he  was  struck  dumb,  and  made 
no  attempt  to  detain  her. 

I  -think  her  dignified  composure  did  not  last 
long  when  she  was  alone ;  at  least,  the  next  time 
he  saw  her,  her  eyes  were  red ;  his  heart  smote 
him,  and  he  began  to  make  excuses  and  beg  her 
forgiveness.  But  she  interrupted  him.  "Don't 
speak  to  me  no  more,  if  you  please,  sir,"  said  she, 
civilly,  but  coldly. 

Mercy,  though  so  quiet  and  inoffensive,  had 
depth  and  strength  of  character.  She  never  told 
her  mother  what  Thomas  Leicester  had  proposed 
to  her.  Her  honest  pride  kept  her  silent,  for  one 
thing.  She  would  not  have  it  known  she  had 
been  insulted.  And,  besides  that,  she  loved 
Thomas  Leicester  still,  and  could  not  expose  or 


hurt  him.  Once  there  was  an  Israelite  without 
guile,  though  you  and  I  never  saw  him;  and 
once  there  was  a  Saxon  without  bile,  and  her 
name  was  Mercy  Vint.  In  this  heart  of  gold  the 
affections  were  stronger  than  the  passions.  She 
was  deeply  wounded,  and  showed  it  in  a  patient 
way  to  him  who  had  wounded  her,  but  to  none 
other.  Her  conduct  to  him  in  public  and  pri- 
vate was  truly  singular,  and  would  alone  have 
stamped  her  a  remarkable  character.  She  de- 
clined all  communication  with  him  in  private, 
and  avoided  him  steadily  and  adroitly ;  but  in 
public  she  spoke  to  him,  sang  with  him  when  she 
was  asked,  and  treated  him  much  the  same  as 
before.  He  could  see  a  subtle  difference,  but 
nobody  else  could. 

This  generosity,  coupled  with  all  she  had  done 
for  him  before,  penetrated  his  heart,  and  filled 
him  with  admiration  and  remorse.  He  yielded 
to  Mrs.  Vint's  suggestions,  and  told  her  she  was 
right ;  he  would  tear  himself  away,  and  never  see 
the  dear  " Packhorse"  again.  "But  oh,  dame," 
said  he,  "  'tis  a  sorrowful  tiling  to  be  alone  in  the 
world  again,  and  naught  to  do.  If  I  had  but  a 
farm,  and  a  sweet  little  inn  like  this,  perchance 
my  heart  would  not  be  quite  so  heavy  as  'tis  this 
day  at  thoughts  of  parting  from  thee  and  thine." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Vint,  "if  that  is  all, 
there  is  the  'Vine'  to  let  at  this  moment.  'Tis 
a  better  place  of  business  than  this ;  and  some 
meadows  go  with  it,  and  land  to  be  had  in  the 
parish." 

"I'll  ride  and  see  it,"  said  Griffith,  eagerly: 
then,  dejectedly,  "but,  alas!  I  have  no  heart  to 
keep  an  inn  without  somebody  to  help  me,  and 
say  a  kind  word  now  and  then.  Ah !  Mercy  Vint, 
thou  hast  spoiled  me  for  living  alone." 

This  vacillation  exhausted  Mrs.  Vint's  pa- 
tience. "What  are  ye  sighing  about,  ye  foolish 
man?"  said  she,  contemptuously;  "you  have  got 
it  all  your  own  way :  if  'tis  a  wife  ye  want,  ask 
Mercy,  and  don't  take  a  nay ;  if  ye  would  have 
a  housekeeper,  you  need  not  want  one  long.  I'll 
be  bound  there's  plenty  of  young  women  where 
you  came  from  as  would  be  glad  to  keep  the 
'Vine'  under  you.  And,  if  you  come  to  that,  our 
Mercy  is  a  treasm*e  on  the  farm,  but  she  is  no 
help  in  the  inn,  no  more  than  a  wax  figure :  she 
never  brought  us  a  shilling  till  you  came  and 
made  her  sing  to  your  base  viol.  Nay,  what  you 
want  is  a  smart,  handsome  girl,  with  a  quick  eye 
and  a  ready  tongue,  and  one  as  can  look  a  man 
in  the  face,  and  not  given  to  love  nor  liquor. 
Don't  you  know  never  such  a  one  ?" 

"Not  I.  Humph,  to  be  sure,  there  is  Caro- 
line Ryder.  She  is  handsome,  and  hath  a  good 
wit.     She  is  a  lady's  maid." 

"  That'»your  woman,  if  she'll  come.  And  to 
be  sure  she  will ;  for  to  be  mistress  of  an  inn, 
that's  a  lady's  maid's  Paradise. " 

"She  would  have  come  a  few  months  ago,  and 
gladly;  I'll  write  to  her." 

"Better  talk  to  her,  and  persuade  her." 

"I'll  do  that  too;  but  I  must  write  to  her 
first. " 

"So  do,  then;  but,  whatever  you  do,  don't 
shilly-shally  no  longer.  If  wrestling  was  shilly- 
shallying, methinks  you'd  bear  the  bell,  you  or 
else  Paul  Carrick.  Why,  all  this  trouble  comes 
on't.  He  might  have  wed  our  Mercy  a  year 
agone  for  the  asking.  Shilly-shally  belongs  to 
us  that  be  women.     'Tis  despisable  in  a  man. " 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


83 


Thus  driven  on  all  sides,  Griffith  rode  and 
inspected  the  "Vine"  (it  was  only  seven  miles 
off),  and  after  the  usual  chaffering,  came  to 
terms  with  the  proprietor. 

He  fixed  the  day  for  his  departure,  and  told 
Mrs.  Vint  he  must  ride  into  Cumberland  first  to 
get  some  money,  and  also  to  see  about  a  house- 
keeper. 

He  made  no  secret  of  all  this  ;  and,  indeed, 
was  not  without  hopes  Mercy  would  relent,  or 
perhaps  be  jealous  of  this  housekeeper.  But  the 
only  visible  effect  was  to  make  her  look  pale  and 
gad :  she  avoided  him  in  private  as  before. 

Harry  Vint  was  loud  in  his  regrets,  and  Car- 
rick  openly  exultant.  Griffith  wrote  to  Caroline 
Ryder,  and  addressed  the  letter  in  a  feigned  hand, 
and  took  it  himself  to  the  nearest  post  town. 

The  letter  came  to  hand,  and  will  appear  in 
that  sequence  of  events  on  which  I  am  now  about 
to  enter. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

If  Griffith  Gaunt  suffered  anguish,  he  inflicted 
agony.  Mrs.  Gaunt  was  a  high-spirited,  proud, 
and  sensitive  woman  ;  and  he  crushed  her  with 
foul  words.  Leonard  was  a  delicate,  vain,  and 
sensitive  man,  accustomed  to  veneration.  Imag- 
ine such  a  man  hurled  to  the  ground  and  tram- 
pled upon. 

Griffith  should  not  have  fled ;  he  should  have 
staid  and  enjoyed  his  vengeance  on  these  two  per- 
sons. It  might  have  cooled  him  a  little  had  he 
stopped  and  seen  the  immediate  consequences  of 
his  savage  act. 

The  priest  rose  from  the  ground,  pale  as  ashes, 
Mad  trembling  with  fear  and  hate. 

The  lady  was  leaning,  white  as  a  sheet,  against 
a,  tree,  and  holding  it  with  her  very  nails  for  a 
little  support. 

They  looked  round  at  one  another — a  piteous 
glance  of  anguish  and  horror ;  then  Mrs.  Gaunt 
turned  and  flung  her  arm  round  so  that  the  palm 
of  her  hand,  high  raised,  confronted  Leonard.  I 
Am  thus  particular,  because  it  was  a  gesture  grand 
and  terrible  as  the  occasion  that  called  it  forth — 
a  gesture  that  spoke,  and  said,  "Put  the  whole 
earth  and  sea  between  us  forever  after  this." 

The  next  moment  she  bent  her  head  and  rush- 
ed away,  cowering  and  wringing  her  hands.  She 
made  for  her  house  as  naturally  as  a  scared  ani- 
mal for  its  lair ;  but,  ere  she  could  reach  it,  she 
tottered  under  the  shame,  the  distress,  and  the 
mere  terror,  and  fell  fainting  with  her  fair  fore- 
head on  the  grass. 

Caroline  Ryder  was  crouched  in  the  doorway, 
and  did  not  see  her  come  out  of  the  grove,  but 
only  heard  a  rustle,  and  then  saw  her  proud  mis- 
tress totter  forward  and  lie  white,  senseless,  help- 
less at  her  very  feet. 

Ryder  uttered  a  scream,  but  did  not  lose  her 
presence  of  mind.  She  instantly  kneeled  over 
Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  loosened  her  stays  with  quick 
jmd  dexterous  hand. 

It  was  very  like  the  hawk  perched  over  and 
clawing  the  ringdove  she  has  struck  down. 

But  people  with  brains  are  never  quite  inhu- 
man :  a  drop  of  lukewarm  pity  entered  even  Ry- 
der's heart  as  she  assisted  her  victim.  She  call- 
ed no  one  to  help  her,  for  she  saw  something  very 
serious  had  happened,  and  she  felt  sure  Mrs. 


Gaunt  would  say  something  imprudent  in  that 
dangerous  period  when  the  patient  recovers  con- 
sciousness, but  has  not  all  her  wits  about  her. 
Now  Ryder  was  equally  determined  to  know  her 
mistress's  secrets,  and  not  to  share  the  knowledge 
with  any  other  person. 

It  was  a  long  swoon ;  and  when  Mrs.  Gaunt 
came  to,  the  first  thing  she  saw  was  Ryder  lean- 
ing over  her,  with  a  face  of  much  curiosity  and 
some  concern. 

In  that  moment  of  weakness,  the  poor  lady  who 
had  been  so  roughly  handled  saw  a  woman  close 
to  her,  and  being  a  little  kind  to  her ;  so  what 
did  she  do  but  throw  her  arms  round  Ryder's 
neck,  and  burst  out  sobbing  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

Then  that  unprincipled  woman  shed  a  tear  or 
two  with  her,  half  crocodile,  half  impulse. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  not  only  cried  on  her  servant's 
neck,  she  justified  Ryder's  forecast  by  speaking 
unguardedly:  "I've  been  insulted^in suited — 
insulted!" 

But,  even  while  uttering  these  words,  she  was 
recovering  her  pride:  so  the  first  "insulted" 
seemed  to  come  from  a  broken-hearted  child,  the 
second  from  an  indignant  lady,  the  third  from  a 
wounded  queen. 

No  more  words  than  this ;  but  rose,  with  Ry- 
der's assistance,  and  went,  leaning  on  that  faith- 
ful creature's  shoulder,  to  her  own  bedi'oom. 
There  she  sank  into  a  chair,  and  said,  in  a  voice 
to  melt  a  stone,  "  My  child  !  Bring  me  my  lit- 
tle Rose." 

Ryder  ran  and  fetched  the  little  girl ;  and  Mrs. 
Gaunt  held  out  both  arms  to  her,  angelically,  and 
clasped  her  so  passionately  and  piteously  to  her 
bosom  that  Rose  cried  for  fear,  and  never  forgot 
the  scene  all  her  days ;  and  Mrs.  Ryder,  who  was 
secretly  a  mother,  felt  a  genuine  twinge  of  pity 
and  remorse.  Curiosity,  however,  was  the  dom- 
inant sentiment ;  she  was  impatient  to  get  all 
these  convulsions  over,  and  learn  what  had  actu- 
ally passed  between  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

She  waited  till  her  mistress  appeared  calmer, 
and  then,  in  soft,  caressing  tones,  asked  her  what 
had  happened. 

"Never  ask  me  that  question  again,"  cried 
Mrs.  Gaunt,  wildly ;  then,  with  inexpressible  dig- 
nity, "  My  good  girl,  you  have  done  all  you  could 
for  me ;  now  you  must  leave  me  alone  with  my 
daughter,  and  my  God,  who  knows  the  truth." 

Ryder  courtesied  and  retired,  burning  with  baf- 
fled curiosity. 

Toward  dusk  Thomas  Leicester  came  into  the 
kitchen,  and  brought  her  news  with  a  vengeance. 
He  told  her  and  the  other  maids  that  the  squire 
had  gone  raving  mad  and  fled  the  country.  "Oh, 
lasses,"  said  he,  "  if  you  had  seen  the  poor  soul's 
face,  a  riding  headlong  through  the  fair  all  one 
as  if  it  was  a  plowed  field  ;  'twas  white  as  your 
smocks  ;  and  his  eyes  glowering  on  t'other  world. 
We  shall  ne'er  see  that  face  alive  again. " 

And  this  was  her  doing. 

It  surprised  and  overpowered  Ryder.  She 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  went  off  in 
hysterics,  and  betrayed  her  lawless  attachment  to 
every  woman  In  the  kitchen,  she  who  was  so  clev- 
er at  probing  others. 

This  day  of  violent  emotions  was  followed  by 
a  sullen  and  sorrowful  gloom. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  kept  her  bedroom  and  admitted 
nobody,  till  at  last  the  servants  consulted  togeth- 


81 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


er,  and  sent  little  Rose  to  knock  at  her  door  with 
a  basin  of  chocolate,  while  they  watched  on  the 
stairs. 

"  It's  only  me,  mamma,"  said  Rose. 

"Come  in,  my  precious,"  said  a  trembling 
voice,  and  so  Rose  got  in  with  her  chocolate. 

The  next  day  she  was  sent  for  early ;  and  at 
noon  Mrs.  Gaunt  and  Rose  came  down  stairs,  but 
their  appearance  startled  the  whole  household. 
The  mother  was  dressed  all  in  black,  and  so  was 
her  daughter,  whom  she  led  by  the  hand.  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  face  was  pale,  and  sad,  and  stern;  a 
monument  of  deep  suffering  and  high-strung  res- 
olution. 

It  soon  transpired  that  Griffith  had  left  his 
home  for  good,  and  friends  called  on  Mrs.  Gaunt 
to  slake  their  curiosity  under  the  mask  of  sym- 
pathy. 

Not  one  of  them  was  admitted.  No  false  ex- 
cuses were  made.  ' '  My  mistress  sees  no  one  for 
the  present,"  was  the  reply. 

Curiosity,  thus  baffled,  took  up  the  pen,  but 
was  met  with  a  short  unvarying  formula :  "  There 
is  an  unhappy  misunderstanding  between  my  hus- 
band and  me.  But  I  shall  neither  accuse  him 
behind  his  back  nor  justify  myself." 

Thus  the  proud  lady  carried  herself  before  the 
world,  but  secretly  she  writhed.  A  wife  aban- 
doned is  a  woman  insulted,  and  makes  the  wives 
that  are  not  abandoned — cluck. 

Ryder  was  dejected  for  a  time,  and,  though  not 
honestly  penitent,  suffered  some  remorse  at  the 
miserable  issue  of  her  intrigues.  But  her  elastic 
nature  soon  shook  it  off,  and  she  felt  a  certain 
satisfaction  at  having  reduced  Mrs.  Gaunt  to  her 
own  level.  This  disarmed  her  hostility.  She 
watched  her  as  keenly  as  ever,  but  out  of  pure 
curiosity. 

One  thing  puzzled  her  strangely.  Leonard  did 
not  visit  the  house,  nor  could  she  even  detect  any 
communication  between  the  parties. 

At  last,  one  day,  her  mistress  told  her  to  put  on 
her  hat  and  go  to  Father  Leonard. 

Ryder's  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  was  soon 
equipped.  Mrs.  Gaunt  put  a  parcel  and  a  letter 
into  her  hands.  Ryder  no  sooner  got  out  of  her 
sight  than  she  proceeded  to  tamper  with  the  let- 
ter. But,  to  her  just  indignation,  she  found  it 
so  ingeniously  folded  and  sealed  that  she  could 
not  read  a  word. 

The  parcel,  however,  she  easily  undid,  and  it 
contained  forty  pounds  in  gold  and  small  notes. 
' '  Oho !  my  lady, "  said  Ryder. 

She  was  received  by  Leonard  with  a  tender 
emotion  he  in  vain  tried  to  conceal. 

On  reading  the  letter  his  features  contracted 
sharply,  and  he  seemed  to  suffer  agony.  He 
would  not  even  open  the  parcel.  "  Ydu  will  take 
that  back,"  said  he,  bitterly. 

"What,  without  a  word  ?" 

"Without  a  word.  But  I  will  write  when  I 
am  able." 

"Don't  be  long,  sir,"  suggested  Ryder.  "I 
am  sure  my  mistress  is  wearying  for  you.  Con- 
sider, sir,  she  is  all  alone  now." 

"  Not  so  much  alone  as  I  am,"  said  the  priest, 
"nor  half  so  unfortunate." 

And  with  this  he  leaned  his  head  despairingly 
on  his  hand,  and  motioned  to  Ryder  to  leave  him. 

"  Here's  a  couple  of  fools,"  said  she  to  herself 
as  she  went  home. 


That  very  evening  Thomas  Leicester  caught 
her  alone,  and  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

She  stared  at  first,  and  then  treated  it  as  a  jest. 
"You  come  at  the  wrong  time,  young  man," 
said  she.  "  Marriage  is  put  out  of  countenance. 
No,  no,  I  will  never  marry  after  what  I  have  seen 
in  this  house." 

Leicester  would  not  take  this  for  an  answer, 
and  pressed  her  hard. 

"Thomas,"  said  this  plausible  jade,  "I  like 
you  very  well,  but  I  couldn't  leave  my  mistress  in 
her  trouble.  Time  to  talk  of  marrying  when 
master  comes  here  alive  and  well." 

"Nay,"  said  Leicester,  "my  only  chance  is 
while  he  is  away ;  you  care  more  for  his  little 
finger  than  for  my  whole  body — that  they  all 
say. " 

"Who  says?" 

"Jane,  and  all  the  lasses." 

"You  simple  man,  they  want  you  for  them- 
selves, that  is  why  they  belie  me." 

' "  Nay,  nay,  I  saw  how  you  carried  on  when  I 
brought  word  he  was  gone.  You  let  your  heart 
out  for  once.  Don't  take  me  for  a  fool ;  I  see 
how  'tis ;  but  1*11  face  it,  for  I  worship  the  ground 
you  walk  on.  Take  a  thought,  my  lass.  What 
good  can  come  of  your  setting  your  heart  on 
him  ?  I'm  young,  I'm  healthy,  and  not  ugly 
enough  to  set  the  dogs  a  barking ;  I've  got  a  good 
place ;  I  love  you  dear ;  I'll  cure  you  of  that 
fancy,  and  make  you  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long. 
I'll  try  and  make  you  as  happy  as  you  will  make 
me,  my  beauty." 

He  was  so  in  earnest,  and  so  much  in  love,  that 
Mrs.  Ryder  pitied  him,  and  wished  her  husband 
was  in  Heaven. 

"I  am  very  sorry,  Tom,"  said  she,  softly: 
"  dear  me,  I  did  not  think  you  cared  so  much  for 
me  as  this.  I  must  just  tell  you  the  truth.  I 
have  got  one  in  my  own  country,  and  I've  prom- 
ised him.  I  don't  care  to  break  my  word ;  and, 
if  I  did,  he  is  such  a  man  I  am  sure  he  would 
kill  me  for  it.  Indeed,  he  has  told  me  as  much 
more  than  once  or  twice. " 

"  Killing  is  a  game  that  two  can  play  at." 

"  Ah !  but  'tis  an  ugly  game,  and  I'll  have  no 
hand  in  it.  And — don't  be  angry  with  me,  Tom 
— I've  known  him  longest,  and — I  love  him  best. " 

By  pertinacity  and  variety  in  lying,  she  hit  the 
mark  at  last.  Tom  swallowed  this  figment 
whole. 

" That  is  but  reason,"  said  he.  "I  take  my 
answer,  and  I  wish  ye  both  many  happy  days 
together,  and  well  spent." 

With  this  he  retired,  and  blubbered  a  good 
hour  in  an  outhouse. 

Tom  avoided  the  castle,  and  fell  into  low  spir- 
its. He  told  his  mother  all,  and  she  advised  him 
to  change  the  air.  "  You  have  been  too  long  in 
one  place,"  said  she ;  "I  hate  being  too  long  in 
one  place  myself." 

This  fired  Tom's  gipsy  blood,  and  he  said  he 
would  travel  to-morrow,  if  he  could  but  scrape 
together  money  enough  to  fill  a  peddler's  pack. 

He  applied  for  a  loan  in  several  quarters,  but 
was  denied  in  all. 

At  last  the  poor  fellow  summoned  courage  to 
lay  his  case  before  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

Ryder's  influence  procured  him  an  interview. 
She  took  him  into  the  drawing-room,  and  bade 
him  wait  there.  By-and-by  a  pale  lady,  all  in 
black,  glided  into  the  room. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  :  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


He  pulled  his  front  hair,  and  began  to  stammer 
something  or  other. 

She  interrupted  him.  "  Ryder  has  told  me," 
said  she,  softly.  "lam  sorry  for  you,  and  I  will 
do  what  you  require.  And,  to  be  sure,  we  need 
no  gamekeeper  here  now.'" 

She  then  gave  him  some  money,  and  said  she 
would  look  him  up  a  few  trifles  besides,  to  put  in 
his  pack. 

Tom's  mother  helped  him  lay  out  his  money 
to  advantage,  and  one  day  he  called  at  Hern- 
sliaw,  pack  and  all,  to  bid  farewell. 

The  servants  all  laid  out  something  with  him 
for  luck ;  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  sent  for  him,  and  gave 
him  a  gold  thimble,  and  a  pound  of  tea,  and  sev- 
eral yards  of  gold  lace,  slightly  tarnished,  and  a 
Queen  Anne's  guinea. 

He  thanked  her  heartily.  "Ay,  dame,"  said 
he, "you  had  always  an  open  hand,  married  or 
single.  My  heart  is  heavy  at  leaving  you.  But 
I  miss  the  squire's  kindly  face  too.  Hernshaw  is 
not  what  it  used  to  be." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  turned  her  head  aside,  and  the  man 
could  see  his  words  had  made  her  cry. 

"My  good  Thomas,"  said  she,  at  last,  "you 
are  going  to  travel  the  country ;  you  might  fall 
in  with  him." 

"I  might,"  said  Leicester,  incredulously. 

* '  God  grant  you  may ;  and,  if  you  ever  should, 
think  of  your  poor  mistress,  and  give  him — this. " 
She  put  her  finger  in  her  bosom  and  drew  out  a 
bullet  wrapped  in  silver  paper.  "You  will  never 
lose  this,"  said  she.  ' '  I  value  it  more  than  gold 
or  silver.  Oh,  if  ever  you  should  see  him,  think 
of  me  and  my  daughter,  and  just  put  it  in  his 
hand  without  a  word." 

As  he  went  out  of  the  room  Ryder  intercepted 
him,  and  said,  "  Mayhap  you  will  fall  in  with 
our  master ;  if  ever  you  do,  tell  him  he  is  under 
a  mistake,  and  the  sooner  he  comes  home  the 
better." 

Tom  Leicester  departed,  and  for  days  and 
weeks  nothing  occurred  to  break  the  sorrowful 
monotony  of  the  place. 

But  the  mourner  had  written  to  her  old  friend 
and  confessor  Francis,  and,  after  some  delay,  in- 
voluntary on  his  part,  he  came  to  see  her. 

They  were  often  closeted  together,  and  spoke 
so  low  that  Ryder  could  not  catch  a  word. 

Francis  also  paid  several  visits  to  Leonard  ; 
and  the  final  result  of  these  visits  was  that  the 
latter  left  England. 

Francis  remained  at  Hernshaw  as  long  as  he 
could,  and  it  was  Mrs.  Gaunt's  hourly  prayer  that 
Griffith  might  return  while  Francis  was  with  her. 

He  did,  at  her  earnest  request,  stay  much  lon- 
ger than  lie  had  intended,  but  at  length  he  was 
obliged  to  fix  next  Monday  to  return  to  his  own 
place. 

It  was  on  Thursday  he  made  this  arrange- 
ment, but  the  very  next  day  the  postman  brought 
a  letter  to  the  Castle,  thus  addressed  : 

"  To  Mistress  Caroline  Ryder, 

"Living  Servant  with  Griffith  Gaunt,  Esq., 
"at  his  house,  called  Hernshaw  Castle, 
' '  near  Wigeonmoor, 
"  in  the  county  of  Cumberland. 

"These  with  speed." 

The  address  was  in  a  feigned  hand.  Ryder 
opened  it  in  the  kitchen,  and  uttered  a  scream. 


Instantly  three  female  throats  opened  upon  her 
with  questions. 

She  looked  them  contemptuously  in  their  faces, 
put  the  letter  into  her  pocket,  and  soon  after  slip- 
ped away  to  her  own  room,  and  locked  herself  in 
while  she  read  it.     It  ran  thus  : 

"Good  Mistress  Ryder, — I  am  alive  yet, 
by  the  blessing,  though  somewhat  battered,  be- 
ing now  risen  from  a  fever,  wherein  I  lost  my 
wits  for"  a  time  ;  and,  on  coming  to  myself,  I 
found  them  making  of  my  shroud,  whereby  you 
shall  learn  how  near  I  was  to  death  ;  and  all  this 
I  owe  to  that  false,  perjured  woman  that  was  my 
wife,  and  is  your  mistress. 

"  Know  that  I  have  donned  russet  and  doffed 
gentility,  for  I  find  a  heavy  heart's  best  cure  is 
occupation.  I  have  taken  a  wayside  inn,  and 
think  of  renting  a  small  farm,  which  two  things 
go  well  together.  Now  you  are,  of  all  those  I 
know,  most  fitted  to  manage  the  inn,  and  I  the 
farm.  You  were  always  my  good  friend  ;  and, 
if  you  be  so  still,  then  I  charge  you  most  solemn- 
ly that  you  utter  no  word  to  any  living  soul  about 
this  letter,  but  meet  me  privately  where  we  can 
talk  fully  of  these  matters,  for  I  will  not  set  foot 
in  Hernshaw  Castle.  Moreover,  she  told  me 
once  'twas  hers,  and  so  be  it.  On  Friday  I  shall 
lie  at  Stapleton,  and  the  next  day,  by  an  easy 
journey,  to  the  place  where  I  once  was  so  happy. 

' '  So  then,  at  seven  of  the  clock  on  Saturday 
evening,  be  the  same  wet  or  dry,  prithee  come  to 
the  gate  of  the  Grove  unbeknown,  and  speak  to 
your  faithful  friend  and  most  unhappy  master, 
"Griffith  Gaunt. 

"Be  secret  as  the  grave.    Would  I  were  in  it. " 

This  letter  set  Caroline  Ryder  in  a  tumult. 
Griffith  alive  and  well,  and  set  against  his  wife, 
and  coining  to  her  for  assistance! 

After  the  first  agitation  she  read  it  .again,  and 
weighed  every  syllable.  There  was  one  book  she 
had  studied  more  than  most  of  us — the  Heart, 
and  she  soon  read  Griffith's  in  this  letter.  It 
was  no  love-letter ;  he  really-  intended  business  ; 
but,  weak  in  health,  and  broken  in  spirit,  and 
alone  in  the  world,  he  naturally  turned  to  one 
who  had  confessed  an  affection  for  him,  and 
would  therefore  be  true  to  his  interests  and  study 
his  happiness. 

The  proposal  was  every  way  satisfactory  to 
Mrs.  Ryder — to  be  mistress  of  an  inn,  and  have 
servants  under  her  instead  of  being  one  herself. 
And  then,  if  Griffith  and  she  began  as  allies  in 
business,  she  felt  very  sure  she  could  make  her- 
self, first  necessary  to  him,  and  then  dear  to  him. 

She  Avas  so  elated  she  could  hardly  contain  her- 
self;  and  all  her  fellow-servants  remarked  that 
Mrs.  Ryder  had  heard  good  news. 

Saturday  came,  and  never  did  hours  seem  to 
creep  so  slowly. 

But  at  last  the  sun  set,  and  the  stars  came 
out ;  there  was  no  moon.  Ryder  opened  the 
window  and  looked  out ;  it  was  an  admirable 
night  for  an  assignation. 

She  washed  her  face  again,  put  on  her  gray 
silk  gown  and  purple  petticoat — Mrs.  Gaunt  had 
given  them  to  her  —  and,  at  the  last  moment, 
went  and  made  up  her  mistress's  fire,  and  put 
out  every  thing  she  thought  could  be  wanted, 
and,  five  minutes  after  seven  o'clock,  tied  a  scar- 
let handkerchief  over  her  head,  and  stepped  out 
at  the  back  door. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


What  with  her  coal-black  hair  so  streaked 
with  red,  her  black  eyes  flashing  in  the  starlight, 
and  her  glowing  cheeks,  she  looked  betwitching. 

And,  thus  armed  for  conquest,  wily,  yet  im- 
passioned, she  stole  out,  with  noiseless  foot  and 
beating  heart,  to  her  appointment  with  her  im- 
prudent master. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

The  bill  was  paid ;  the  black  horse  saddled 
and  brought  round  to  the  door.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Vint  stood  bareheaded  to  honor  the  parting 
guest,  and  the  latter  offered  him  the  stirrup-cup. 
Griffith  looked  round  for  Mercy ;  she  was  no- 
where to  be  seen. 

Then  he  said,  piteously,  to  Mrs.  Vint,  "What ! 
not  even  bid  me  good-by?" 

Mrs.  Vint  replied,  in  a  very  low  voice,  that 
there  was  no  disrespect  intended.  "The  truth 
is,  sir,  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  see  you  go  ; 
but  she  bade  me  give  you  a  message.  Says  she, 
'  Mother,  tell  him  I  pray  God  to  bless  him,  go 
where  he  will.'  " 

Something  rose  in  Griffith's  throat.  "  Oh, 
dame!"  said  he,  "if  she  only  knew  the  truth, 
she  would  think  better  of  me  than  she  does. 
God  bless  her !" 

And  he  rode  sorrowfully  away,  alone  in  the 
world  once  more. 

At  the  first  turn  in  the  road  he  wheeled  his 
horse  and  took  a  last  lingering  look. 

There  was  nothing  vulgar  nor  inn-like  in  the 
"Packhorse."  It  stood  fifty  yards  from  the 
road,  on  a  little  rural  green,  and  was  picturesque 
itself.  The  front  was  entirely  clad  with  large- 
leaved  ivy.  Shutters  there  were  none ;  the  win- 
dows, with  their  diamond  panes,  were  lustrous 
squares,  set  like  great  eyes  in  the  green  ivy.  It 
looked  a  pretty,  peaceful  retreat,  and  in  it  Grif- 
fith had  found  peace  and  a  dove-like  friend. 

He  sighed,  and  rode  away  from  the  sight ;  not 
raging  and  convulsed,  as  Avhen  he  rode  from 
Hernshaw  Castle,  but  somewhat  sick  at  heart 
and  very  heavy. 

He  paced  so  slowly  that  it  took  him  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  to  reach  the  "  Woodman,"  a  wayside 
inn  not  two  miles  distant.  As  he  went  by,  a 
farmer  hailed  him  from  the  porch,  and  insisted 
on  drinking  with  him,  for  he  was  very  popular  in 
the  neighborhood.  While  they  were  thus  em- 
ployed, who  should  come  out  but  Paul  Carrick, 
booted  and  spurred ;  and  flushed  in  the  face,  and 
rather  the  worse  for  liquor  imbibed  on  the  spot. 
"  So  you  are  going,  are  ye?"  said  he.  "A 
good  job  too."  Then,  turning  to  the  other, 
"  Master  Gutteridge,  never  you  save  a  man's  life 
if  you  can  anywise  help  it.  I  saved  this  one's  ; 
and  what  does  he  do  but  turn  round  and  poison 
my  sweetheart  against  me." 

"How  can  you  say  so?"  remonstrated  Grif- 
fith. "I  never  belied  you.  Your  name  scarce 
ever  passed  my  lips." 

"Don't  tell  me,"  said  Carrick.  "However, 
she  has  come  to  her  senses,  and  given  your  wor- 
ship the  sack.  Ride  you  into  Cumberland,  and 
I  to  the  'Packhorse,'  and  take  my  own  again." 
With  this  he  unhooked  his  nag  from  the  Avail, 
and  clattered  off  to  the  ' '  Packhorse. " 

Griffith  sat  a  moment  stupefied,  and  then  his 
face  was  convulsed  by  his  ruling  passion.     He 


wheeled  his  horse,  gave  him  the  spur,  and  gal- 
loped after  Carrick. 

He  soon  came  up  with  him,  and  yelled  in  his 
ear,  "I'll  teach  you  to  spit  your  wormwood  in 
my  cup  of  sorrow." 

Carrick  shook  his  fist  defiantly,  and  spurred 
his  horse  in  turn. 

It  was  an  exciting  race,  and  a  novel  one,  but 
soon  decided.  The  great  black  hunter  went 
ahead,  and  still  improved  his  advantage.  Car- 
rick, purple  with  rage,  was  full  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  behind,  when  Griffith  dashed  furiously  into 
the  stable  of  the  "  Packhorse,"  and,  leaving 
Black  Dick  panting  and  covered  with  foam,  ran 
in  search  of  Mercy. 

The  girl  told  him  she  was  in  the  dairy:  he 
looked  in  at  the  window,  and  there  she  was  with 
her  mother.  With  instinctive  sense  and  forti- 
tude she  had  fled  to  work.  She  was  trying  to 
churn,  but  it  would  not  do.  She  had  laid  her 
shapely  arm  .all  across  the  churn,  and  her  head 
on  it,  and  was  crying.  Mrs.  Vint  was  praising 
Carrick,  and  offering  homely  consolation. 

"  Ah  !  mother,"  sighed  Mercy, "  I  could  have 
made  him  happy.  He  does  not  know  that ;  and 
he  has  turned  his  back  on  content.  What  will 
become  of  him  now  ?" 

Griffith  heard  no  more ;  he  went  round  to  the 
front,  door,  and  rushed  in. 

"  Take  your  own  way,  dame,"  said  he,  in  great 
agitation.  ' '  Put  up  the  banns  when  you  like. 
Sweetheart,  wilt  wed  with  me ?  Ill  make  thee 
the  best  husband  I  can." 

Mercy  screamed  faintly,  and  lifted  up  her 
hands  ;  then  she  blushed  and  trembled  to  her 
very  finger  ends  ;  but  it  ended  in  smiles  of  joy 
and  her  brow  upon  his  shoulder,  in  which  atti- 
tude, with  Mrs.  Vint  patting  him  approvingly  on 
the  back,  they  were  surprised  by  Paul  Carrick. 
He  came  to  the  door,  and  there  stood  aghast. 

The  young  man  stared  ruefully  at  the  picture, 
and  then  said,  very  dryly,  "I'm  too  late,  me- 
thinks." 

"That  you  be,  Paul,"  said  Mrs.  Vint,  cheer- 
fully.     "  She  is  meat  for  your  master." 

"  Don't — you — never — come  to  me — to  save 
your  life — no  more,"  blubbered  Paid,  breaking 
down  all  of  a  sudden. 

He  then  retired,  little  heeded,  and  came  no 
more  to  the  "Packhorse"  for  several  days. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

It  is  desirable  that  improper  marriages  should 
never  be  solemnized ;  and  the  Christian  Church 
saw  this  many  hundred  years  ago,  and  ordained 
that  before  a  marriage,  the  banns  should  be  cried 
in  a  church  three  Sundays,  and  any  person  there 
present  might  forbid  the  union  of  the  parties,  and 
allege  the  just  impediment. 

This  precaution  was  feeble,  but  not  wholly  in- 
adequate in  the  Middle  Ages,  for  Ave  know  by 
good  evidence  that  the  priest  was  often  inter- 
rupted and  the  banns  forbidden. 

But  in  modern  days  the  banns  are  never  for- 
bidden ;  in  other  words,  the  precautionary  meas- 
ure that  has  come  down  to  us  from  the  thirteenth 
century  is  out  of  date  and  useless.  It  rests,  in- 
deed, on  an  estimate  of  publicity  that  has  become 
childish.  If  persons  about  to  marry  were  com- 
pelled to  inscribe  their  names  and  descriptions  in 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


87 


a  Matrimonial  Weekly  Gazette,  and  a  copy  of  ,  but  absent  in  fact,  assented,  by  silence,  to  the 
this  were  placed  on   a   desk  in   ten   thousand  j  union. 

churches,  perhaps  we  might  stop  one  lady  per  |      So  Thomas  Leicester  wedded  Mercy  Vint  and 
annum  from  marrying  her  husband's  brother,  and  :  took  her  home  to  the  "  Fackhorse." 
one  gentleman  from  wedding  his  neighbor's  wife.        It  would  be  well  if  those  who  stifle  their  con- 
But  the  crying  of  banns  in  a  single  parish  church  |  sciences  and  commit  crimes  would  set  up  a  sort 


is  a  waste  of  the  people's  time  and  the  parson's 
breath. 

And  so  it  proved  in  Griffith  Gaunt's  case.  The 
Rev.  William  Wentworth  published,  in  the  usual 
recitative,  the  banns  of  marriage  between  Thom- 
as Leicester,  of  the  parish  of  Marylebone,  in  Lon- 
don, and  Mercy  Vint,  spinster,  of  this  parish  ; 
and  creation,  present  ex  hypothesi  medioevale, 


of  medico-moral  diary,  and  record  their  symp- 
toms minutely  day  by  day.  Such  records  might 
help  to  clear  away  some  vague  conventional  no- 
tions. 

To  tell  the  truth,  our  hero,  and  now  malefactor 
(the  combination  is  of  high  antiquity),  enjoyed, 
for  several  months,  the  peace  of  mind  that  be- 
longs of  right  to  innocence,  and  his  days  passed 


83 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


in  a  state  of  smooth  complacency.  Mercy  was 
a  good,  wise,  and  tender  wife ;  she  naturally 
looked  up  to  him  after  marriage  more  than  she 
did  before  ;  she  studied  his  happiness  as  she  had 
never  studied  her  own ;  she  mastered  his  char- 
acter,  admired  his  good  qualities,  discerned  his 
weaknesses,  hut  did  not  view  them  as  defects, 
only  as  little  traits  to  be  watched,  lest  she  should 
give  pain  to  "her  master,"  as  she  called  him. 

Affection,  in  heV,  took  a  more  obsequious  form 
than  it  could  ever  assume  in  Kate  Peyton.  And 
yet  she  had  great  influence,  and  softly  governed 
4 '  her  master"  for  his  good.  She  would  come  into 
the  room  and  take  away  the  bottle  if  he  was 
committing  excess ;  but  she  had  a  way  of  doing 
it,  so  like  a  good  but  resolute  mother,  and  so  un- 
like a  termagant,  that  he  never  resisted.  Upon 
the  whole,  she  nursed  his  mind  as,  in  earlier  days, 
she  had  nursed  his  body. 

And  then  she  made  him  so  comfortable ;  she 
observed  him  minutely  to  that  end.  As  is  the 
eye  of  a  maid  to  the  hand  of  her  mistress,  so 
Mercy  Leicester's  dove-like  eye  was  ever  watch- 
ing "her  master's"  face,  to  learn  the  minutest 
features  of  his  mind. 

One  evening  he  came  in  tired,  and  there  was 
a  black  lire  in  the  parlor.  His  countenance  fell 
the  sixteenth  of  an  inch.  You  and  I,  sir,  should 
never  have  noticed  it ;  but  Mercy  did,  and  ever 
after  there  was  a  clear  fire  when  he  came  in. 

She  noted,  too,  that  he  loved  to  play  the  viol 
de  gambo,  but  disliked  the  trouble  of  tuning  it. 
So,  then,  she  tuned  it  for  him. 

When  he  came  home  at  night,  early  or  late, 
he  was  sure  to  find  a  dry  pair  of  shoes  on  the  rug, 
his  six-stringed  viol  tuned  to  a  hair,  a  bright  fire, 
and  a  brighter  wife  smiling  and  radiant  at  his 
coming,  and  always  neat ;  for,  said  she, ' '  Shall  I 
don  my  bravery  for  strangers,  and  not  for  my 
Thomas,  that  is  thejbest  of  company  ?" 

They  used  to  go  to  church  and  come  back  to- 
gether hand  in  hand  like  lovers,  for  the  arm 
was  rarely  given  in  those  days.  And  Griffith 
said  to  himself  every  Sunday,  "What  a  comfort 
to  have  a  Trotestant  wife." 

But  one  day  he  was  off  his  guard,  and  called 
her  "  Kate,  my  dear." 

"Who  is  Kate?"  said  she,  softly,  but  with  a 
degree  of  trouble  and  intelligence  that  made  him 
tremble. 

* '  No  matter, "  said  he,  all  in  a  flutter ;  then 
solemnlv,  "Whoever  she  was,  she  is  dead — 
dead." 

"  Ah !"  said  Mercy,  very  tenderly  and  solemn- 
ly, and  under  her  breath,  "you  loved  her,  yet  she 
must  die."  She  paused  ;  then,  in  a  tone  so  ex- 
quisite I  can  only  call  it  an  angel's  whisper,  "Poor 
Kate!" 

Griffith  groaned  aloud.  ' '  For  God's  sake  nev- 
er mention  that  name  to  me  again.  Let  me  for- 
get she  ever  lived.  She  was  not  the  true  friend 
to  me  that  3-011  have  been. " 

Mercy  replied,  softly,  "Say  not  so,  Thomas. 
You  loved  her  well.  Her  death  had  all  but  cost 
me  thine.  Ah !  well,  we  can  not  all  be  the  first. 
I  am  not  very  jealous,  for  my  part,  and  I  thank 
God  for't.  Thou  art  a  dear  good  husband  to  me, 
and  that  is  enow." 

Paul  Carrick,  unable  to  break  off  his  habits, 
came  to  the  "Packhorse"  now  and  then,  but 
Mercy  protected  her  husband's  heart  from  pain. 
She  was  kind  and  even  pitiful,  but  so  discreet  and 


resolute,  and  contrived  to  draw  the  line  so  clearly 
between  her  husband  and  her  old  sweetheart, 
that  Griffith's  foible  could  not  burn  him  for  want 
of  fuel. 

And  so  passed  several  months,  and  the  man's 
heart  was  at  peace.  He  could  not  love  Mercy 
passionately  as  he  had  loved  Kate,  but  he  was 
full  of  real  regard  and  esteem  for  her :  it  was  one 
of  those  gentle,  clinging  attachments  that  outlast 
grand  passions,  and  survive  till  death  ;  a  tender, 
pure  affection,  though  built  upon  a  crime. 

They  had  been  married,  and  lived  in  sweet  con- 
tent, about  three  quarters  of  a  year,  when  trouble 
came,  but  in  a  vulgar  form.  A  murrain  carried 
off  several  of  Harry  Vint's  cattle,  and  it  then 
came  out  that  he  had  purchased  six  of  them  on 
credit,  and  had  been  induced  to  set  his  hands  to 
bills  of  exchange  for  them.  His  rent  was  also 
behind,  and,  in  fact,  his  affairs  were  in  a  desper- 
ate condition. 

He  hid  it  as  long  as  he  could  from  them  all ; 
but  at  last,  being  served  with  a  process  for  debt, 
and  threatened  with  a  distress  and  an  execution, 
he  called  a  family  council  and  exposed  the  real 
state  of  things. 

Mrs.  Vint  rated  him  soundly  for  keeping  all 
this  secret  so  long. 

He  whom  they  called  Thomas  Leicester  re- 
monstrated with  him.  "  Had  you  told  me  in 
time,"  said  he,  "  I  had  not  paid  forfeit  for  '  The 
Vine,'  but  settled  there,  and  given  you  a  home." 

Mercy  said  never  a  word  but  "Poor  father !" 

As  the  peril  drew  nearer,  the  conversation  be- 
came more  animated  and  agitated,  and  soon  the 
old  people  took  to  complaining  of  Thomas  Leices- 
ter to  his  wife. 

"  Thou  hast  married  a  gentleman,  and  he  hath 
not  the  heart  to  lift  a  hand  to  save  thy  folk  from 
ruin." 

"  Say  not  so,"  pleaded  Mercy ;  "  to  be  sure  ha 
hath  the  heart,  but  not  the  means.  'Twas  but 
yestreen  he  bade  me  sell  his  jewels  for  you.  But, 
mother,  I  think  they  belonged  to  some  one  he 
loved,  and  she  died.  So,  poor  thing !  how  could 
I  ?  Then,  if  you  love  me,  blame  me,  and  not 
him." 

"  Jewels,  quotha !  will  they  stop  such  a  gap  as 
ours  ?"  was  the  contemptuous  reply. 

From  complaining  of  him  behind  his  back,  the 
old  people  soon  came  to  launching  innuendoes  ob- 
liquely at  him.  Here  is  one  specimen  out  of  a 
dozen. 

"Wife,  if  our  Mercy  had  wedded  one  of  her 
own  sort,  mayhap  he'd  have  helped  us  a  bit. " 

1  { Ay,  poor  soul,  and  she  so  near  her  time.  If 
the  bailiffs  come  down  on  us  next  month,  'tis  my 
belief  we  shall  lose  her  as  well  as  house  and 
home." 

The  false  Thomas  Leicester  let  them  run  on  in 
dogged  silence,  but  every  word  was  a  stab. 

And  one  day,  when  he  had  been  baited  sore 
with  hints,  he  turned  round  on  them  fiercely  and 
said, ' '  Did  I  get  you  into  this  mess  ?  It's  all  your 
own  doing.  Learn  to  see  your  own  faults,  and 
not  be  so  hard  on  one  that  has  been  the  best  serv- 
ant you  ever  had,  gentleman  or  not." 

Men  can  resist  the  remonstrances  that  wound 
them,  and  so  irritate  them,  better  than  they  can 
those  gentle  appeals  that  rouse  no  anger,  but  soft- 
en the  whole  heart.  The  old  people  stung  him  ; 
but  Mercy,  without  design ,  took  a  surer  way.    h  he 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OK,  JEALOUSY 


89 


never  said  a  word ;  hut  sometimes,  when  the  dis- 
cussions were  at  their  height,  she  turned  her  dove- 
like eyes  on  him  with  a  look  so  loving,  so  hum- 
bly inquiring,  so  timidly  imploring,  that  his  heart 
melted  within  him. 

Ah !  that  is  a  true  touch  of  nature  and  genu- 
ine observation  of  the  sexes  in  the  old  song — 


"My  feyther  urged  me  sair; 

My 


mither  didna  speak ; 
But  "she  looked  me  in  the  face 
Till  my  hairt  was  like  to  break." 

These  silent,  womanly,  imploring  looks  of  pa- 
tient Mercy  were  mightier  than  argument  or  in- 
vective. 

The  man  knew  all  along  where  to  get  money, 
and  how  to  get  it.  He  had  only  to  go  to  Hern- 
shaw  Castle.  But  his  very  soul  shuddered  at  the 
idea.  However,  for  Mercy's  sake,  he  took  the 
first  step :  he  compelled  himself  to  look  the  thing 
in  the  face,  and  discuss  it  with  himself.  A  few 
months  ago  he  could  not  have  done  this ;  he  loved 
his  lawful  wife  too  much — hated  her  too  much. 
But  now,.  Mercy,  and  Time,  had  blunted  both 
those  passions,  and  he  could  ask  himself  whether 
he  could  not  encounter  Kate  and  her  priest  with- 
out any  very  violent  emotion. 

When  they  first  set  up  house  together  he  had 
spent  his  whole  fortune,  a  sum  of  two  thousand 
pounds,  on  repairing  and  embellishing  Hernshawr 
Castle  and  grounds.  Since  she  had  driven  him 
out  of  the  house,  he  had  a  clear  right  to  have  back 
the  money,  and  now  he  resolved  he  would  have 
it,  only  what  he  wanted  was  to  get  it  without  go- 
ing to  the  place  in  person. 

And  now  Mercy's  figure,  as  wrell  as  her  implor- 
ing looks,  moved  him  greatly.  She  was  in  that 
condition  which  appeals  to  a  man's  humanity  and 
masculine  pity  as  well  as  to  his  affection.  To 
use  the  homely  words  of  Scripture,  she  was  great 
with  child,  and  in  that  condition  moved  slowly 
about  him,  filling  his  pipe,  and  laying  his  slippers, 
and  ministering  to  all  his  little  comforts ;  she 
would  make  no  difference ;  and  when  he  saw  the 
poor  dove  move  about  him  so  heavily  and  rather 
languidly,  yet  so  zealously  and  tenderly,  the  man's 
very  bowels  yearned  over  her,  and  he  felt  as  if  he 
could  die  to  do  her  a  service. 

So,  one  day,  when  she  was  standing  by  him, 
bending  over  his  little  round  table,  and  filling  his 
pipe  with  her  neat  hand,  he  took  her  by  the  other 
hand  and  drew  her  gently  on  his  knee,  her  bur- 
den and  all. 

"  Child !"  said  he,  "  do  not  thou  fret.  I  know 
how  to  get  money,  and  I'll  do't,  for  thy  sake." 

"I  know  that,"  said  she,  softly;  "can  I  not 
read  thy  face  by  this  time?"  and  so  laid  her 
cheek  to  his.  "  But,  Thomas,  for  my  sake,  get 
it  honestly,  or  not  at  all,"  said  she,  still  filling 
his  pipe,  with  her  cheek  to  his. 

"I'll  but  take  back  my  own,"  said  he ;  "  fear 
naught." 

But,  after  thus  positively  pledging  himself  to 
Mercy,  he  became  thoughtful  and  rather  fretful ; 
for  he  was  still  most  averse  to  go  to  Hernshaw, 
and  yet  could  hit  upon  no  other  way,  since  to 
employ  an  agent  would  be  to  let  out  that  he  had 
committed  bigamy,  and  so  risk  his  own  neck  and 
break  Mercy's  heart. 

After  all,  his  scale  was  turned  by  his  foible. 

Mrs.  Vint  had  been  weak  enough  to  confide 
her  trouble  to  a  friend :  it  was  all  over  the  par- 
ish in  three  days. 


Well,  one  day,  in  the  kitchen  of  the  inn,  Paul 
Carrick,  having  drunk  two  pints  of  good  ale,  said 
to  Vint,  "Landlord,  you  ought  to  have  married 
her  to  me.  I've  got  two  hundred  pounds  laid 
by.  I'd  have  pulled  you  out  of  the  mire  and 
welcome. " 

"  Would  you,  though,  Paul,"  said  Harry  Vint ; 
"  then,  by  G— ,  I  wish  I  had." 

Now  Carrick  bawled  that  out,  and  Griffith, 
who  was  at  the  door,  heard  it. 

He  walked  into  the  kitchen  ghastly  pale,  and 
spoke  to  Harry  Vint  first. 

"I  take  your  inn,  your  farm,  and  your  debts 
on  me,"  said  he  ;  "not  one  without  t'other." 

"Spoke  like  a  man!"  cried  the  landlord,  joy- 
fully ;  "  and  so  be  it — before  these  witnesses." 

Griffith  turned  on  Carrick:  "This  house  is 
mine.  Get  out  on't,  yejealotis,  mischief-making 
cur."  And  he  took  him  by  the  collar  and 
dragged  him  furiously  out  of  the  place,  and  sent 
him  whirling  into  the  middle  of  the  road ;  then 
ran  back  for  his  hat  and  flung  it  out  after 
him. 

This  done,  he  sat  dowrn  boiling,  and  his  eyes 
roved  fiercely  round  the  room  in  search  of  some 
other  antagonist.  But  his  strength  was  so  great, 
and  his  face  so  altered  with  this  sudden  spas-m 
of  reviving  jealousy,  that  nobody  cared  to  pro- 
voke him  farther. 

After  a  while,  however,  Harry  Vint  muttered, 
dryly,  "There  goes  one  good  customer." 

Griffith  took  him  up  sternly:  "If  your  debts 
are  to  be  mine,  your  trade  shall  be  mine  too,  that 
you  had  not  the  head  to  conduct." 

"So  be  it,  son-in-law,"  said  the  old  man; 
"  only  you  go'  so  fast :  you  do  take  possession 
afore  you  pays  the  fee." 

Griffith  winced.  "That  shall  be  the  last  of 
your  taunts,  old  man."  He  turned  to  the  ostler, 
"Bill,  give  Black  Dick  his  oats  at  sunrise,  and 
in  ten  days,  at  farthest,  I'll  pay  every  shilling 
this  house  and  farm  do  owe.  Now,  Master 
White,  you'll  put  in  hand  a  new  sign-board  for 
this  inn — a  fresh  'Packhorse,'  and  paint  him  jet 
black,  with  one  white  hoof  (instead  of  chocolate), 
in  honor  of  my  nag  Dick  ;  and  in  place  of  Harry 
Vint  you'll  put  in  Thomas  Leicester.  bee  that 
is  done  against  I  come  back,  or  come  you  here 
no  more." 

Soon  after  this  scene  he  retired  to  tell  Mercy, 
and  on  his  departure  the  suppressed  tongues 
went  like  mill-clacks. 

Dick  came  round  saddled  at  peep  of  day,  but 
Mercy  had  been  up  more  than  an  hour,  and  pre- 
pared her  man's  breakfast.  She  clung  to  him  at 
parting,  and  cried  a  little,  and  whispered  some- 
thing in  his  ear  for  nobody  else  to  hear :  it  was 
an  entreaty  that  he  would  not  be  long  gone,  lest 
he  should  be  far  from  her  in  the  hour  of  her 
peril. 

Thereupon  he  promised  her,  and  kissed  her 
tenderly,  and  bade  her  be  of  good  heart,  and  so 
rode  away  northward  with  dogged  resolution. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Mercy's  tears  flowed 
without  restraint. 

Her  father  set  himself  to  console  her.  "  Thy 
good  man,"  he  said,  "is  but  gone  back  to  the 
high  road  for  a  night  or  two,  to  follow  his  trade 
of '  stand  and  deliver.'  Fear  naught,  child ;  his 
pistols  are  well  primed ;  I  saw  to  that  myself; 
and  his  horse  is  the  fleetest  in  the  county;  you'll 
have  him  back  in  three  days,  and  money  in  both 


90 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


pockets.  I  warrant  you  his  is  a  better  trade  than 
mine,  and  he  is  a  fool  to  change  it." 

Griffith  was  two  days  upon  the  road,  and  all 
that  time  he  was  turning  over  and  discussing  in 
his  mind  how  he  should  conduct  the  disagree- 
able but  necessary  business  he  had  undertaken. 

He  determined,  at  last,  to  make  the  visit  one 
of  business  only  :  no  heat — no  reproaches.  That 
lovely,  hateful  woman  might  continue  to  dishonor 
his  name,  for  he  had  himself  abandoned  it.  He 
would  not  deign  to  receive  any  money  that  was 
hers,  but  his  own  two  thousand  pounds  he  would 
have,  and  two  or  three  hundred,  on  the  spot  by 
way  of  instalment.  And,  with  these  hard  views, 
he  drew  near  to  Hernshaw ;  but  the  nearer  he 
got,  the  slower  he  went ;  for  what,  at  a  distance, 
had  seemed  tolerably  easy,  began  to  get  more 
and  more  difficult  and  repulsive.  Moreover,  his 
heart,  which  he  thought  he  had  steeled,  began 
now  to  flutter  a  little,  and  somehow  to  shudder 
at  the  approaching  intervieAv. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Caroline  Ryder  went  to  the  gate  of  the 
Grove,  and  staid  there  two  hours,  but  of  course 
no  Griffith  came. 

She  returned  the  next  night,  and  the  next ; 
and  then  she  gave  it  up,  and  awaited  an  explana- 
tion. None  came,  and  she  was  bitterly  disap- 
pointed and  indignant. 

She  began  to  hate  Griffith,  and  to  conceive  a 
certain  respect,  and  even  a  tepid  friendship,  for 
the  other  woman  he  had  insulted. 

Another  clew  to  this  change  of  feeling  is  to  be 
found  in  a  word  she  let  drop  in  talking  to  an- 
other servant.  "  My  mistress,"  said  she,  "  bears 
it  like  a  man." 

In  fact,  Mrs.  Gaunt's  conduct  at  this  period 
was  truly  noble. 

She  suffered  months  of  torture,  months  of 
grief;  but  the  high-spirited  creature  hid  it  from 
the  world,  and  maintained  a  sad  but  high  com- 
posure. 

She  wore  her  black,  for  she  said,  "  How  do  I 
know  he  is  alive?"  She  retrenched  her  estab- 
lishment, reduced  her  expenses  two  thirds,  and 
busied  herself  in  works  of  charity  and  religion. 

Her  desolate  condition  attracted  a  gentleman 
who  had  once  loved  her,  and  now  esteemed  and 
pitied  her  profoundly — Sir  George  Neville. 

He  was  still  unmarried,  and  she  was  the  cause 
— so  far,  at  least,  as  this  :  she  had  put  him  out 
of  conceit  with  the  other  ladies  at  that  period 
when  he  had  serious  thoughts  of  marriage,  and 
the  inclination  to  marry  at  all  had  not  since  re- 
turned. 

If  the  Gaunts  had  settled  at  Bolton,  Sir  George 
would  have  been  their  near  neighbor ;  but  Ne- 
ville's Court  was  nine  miles  from  Hernshaw  Cas- 
tle; and  when  they  met,  which  was  not  very 
often,  Mrs.  Gaunt  was  on  her  guard  to  give 
Griffith  no  shadow  of  uneasiness.  She  was 
therefore  rather  more  dignified  and  distant  with 
Sir  George  than  her  own  inclination  and  his 
merits  would  have  prompted,  for  he  was  a  supe- 
rior and  very  agreeable  man. 

When  it  became  quite  certain  that  her  hus- 
band had  left  her,  Sir  George  rode  up  to  Hern- 
shaw Castle  and  called  upon  her. 

She  begged  to  be  excused  from  seeing  him. 


Now  Sir  George  was  universally  courted,  ank 
this  rather  nettled  him :  however,  he  soon  learn- 
ed that  she  received  nobody  except  a  few  re- 
ligious friends  of  her  own  sex. 

Sir  George  then  wrote  her  a  letter  that  did 
him  credit ;  it  was  full  of  worthy  sentiment  and 
good  sense.  For  instance,  he  said  he  desired  to 
intrude  his  friendly  offices  and  his  sympathy 
upon  her,  but  nothing  more.  Time  had  cured 
him  of  those  warmer  feelings  which  had  once 
ruffled  his  peace,  but  Time  could  not  efface  his 
tender  esteem  for  the  lady  he  had  loved  in  his 
youth,  nor  his  profound  respect  for  her  char- 
actei*. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  wept  over  his  gentle  letter,  and 
was  on  the  verge  of  asking  herself  why  she  had 
chosen  Griffith  instead  of  this  chevalier.  She 
sent  him  a  sweet  yet  prudent  reply ;  she  did  not 
encourage  him  to  visit  her,  but  said  that,  if  ever 
she  should  bring  herself  to  receive  visits  from  the 
gentlemen  of  the  county  during  her  husband's 
absence,  he  should  be  the  first  to  know  it.  She 
signed  herself  his  unhappy,  but  deeply  grateful 
servant  and  friend. 

One  day,  as  she  came  out  of  a  poor  woman's 
cottage  with  a  little  basket  on  her  arm  which  she 
had  emptied  in  the  cottage,  she  met  Sir  George 
Neville  full. 

He  took  off  his  hat  and  made  her  a  profound 
bow.  He  was  then  about  to  ride  on,  but  altered 
his  mind,  and  dismounted  to  speak  to  her. 

The  interview  was  constrained  at  first,  but  ere 
long  he  ventured  to  tell  her  she  really  ought  to 
consult  with  some  old  friend  and  practical  man 
like  himself.  He  would  undertake  to  scour  the 
country,  and  find  her  husband,  if  he  was  above 
ground. 

"  Me  go  a  hunting  the  man,"  cried  she,  turn- 
ing red ;  "not  if  he  was  my  king  as  well  as  my 
husband.  He  knows  where  to  find  me,  and  that 
is  enough." 

"Well,  but,  madam,  would  you  not  like  to 
learn  where  he  is  and  what  he  is  doing  ?" 

"Why,  yes,  my  good,  kind  friend,  I  should 
like  to  know  that;"  and,  having  pronounced 
these  words  with  apparent  calmness,  she  burst 
out  crying,  and  almost  ran  away  from  him. 

Sir  George  looked  sadly  after  her,  and  formed 
a  worthy  resolution.  He  saw  there  was  but  one 
road  to  her  regard.  He  resolved  to  hunt  her 
husband  for  her  without  intruding  on  her,  or 
giving  her  a  voice  in  the  matter.  Sir  George 
was  a  magistrate,  and  accustomed  to  organize 
inquiries.  Spite  of  the  length  of  time  that  had 
elapsed,  he  traced  Griffith  for  a  considerable  dis- 
tance ;  pending  farther  inquiries,  he  sent  Mrs. 
Gaunt  word  that  the  truant  had  not  made  for 
the  sea,  but  had  gone  due  south. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  returned  him  her  warm  thanks  for 
this  scrap  of  information.  So  long  as  Griffith 
remained  in  the  island  there  was  always  a  hope 
he  might  return  to  her.  The  money  he  had 
taken  would  soon  be  exhausted,  and  poverty 
might  drive  him  to  her ;  and  she  was  so  far 
humbled  by  grief  that  she  could  welcome  him 
even  on  those  terms. 

Affliction  tempers  the  proud.  Mrs.  Gaunt 
was  deeply  injured  as  well  as  insulted ;  but,  for 
all  that,  in  her  many  days  and  weeks  of  solitude 
and  sorrow,  she  took  herself  to  task,  and  saw  her 
fault.  She  became  more  gentle,  more  consider- 
ate of  her  servants'  feelings,  more  womanly. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


For  many  months  she  could  not  enter  "  the 
Grove."  The  spirited  woman's  very  flesh  re- 
volted at  the  sight  of  the  place  where  she  had 
been  insulted  and  abandoned.  But  as  she  went 
deeper  in  religion,  she  forced  herself  to  go  to  the 
gate  and  look  in,  and  say  out  loud, "  I  gave  the 
first  offense,"  and  then  she  would  go  in-doors 
again,  quivering  with  the  internal  conflict. 

Finally,  being  a  Catholic,  and  therefore  at- 
taching more  value  to  self-torture  than  we  do, 
the  poor  soul  made  this  very  grove  her  place  of 
penance.  Once  a  week  she  had  the  fortitude  to 
drag  herself  to  the  very  spot  where  Griffith  had 
denounced  her,  and  there  she  would  kneel  and 
pray  for  him  and  for  herself.  And  certainly,  if 
humility  and  self-abasement  were  qualities  of  the 
body,  here  was  to  be  seen  their  picture,  for  her 
way  was  to  set  the  crucifix  up  at  the  foot  of  a 
tree,  then  to  bow  herself  all  down,  between 
kneeling  and  lying,  and  put  her  lips  meekly  to 
the  foot  of  the  crucifix,  and  so  pray  long  and 
earnestly. 

Now  one  day,  while  she  was  thus  crouching 
in  prayer,  a  gentleman,  booted,  and  spurred, 
and  splashed,  drew  near,  with  hesitating  steps. 
She  was  so  absorbed  she  did  not  hear  those 
steps  at  all  till  they  were  very  near,  but  then  she 
trembled  all  over,  for  her  delicate  ear  recognized 
a  manly  tread  she  had  not  heard  for  many  a  day. 
She  dared  not  move  nor  look,  for  she  thought  it 
was  a  mere  sound,  sent  to  her  by  heaven  to  com- 
fort her.  But  the  next  moment  a  well-known 
mellow  voice  came  like  a  thunder-clap,  it  shook 
her  so. 

' '  Forgive  me,  my  good  dame,  but  I  desire  to 
know — " 

The  question  went  no  farther,  for  Kate  Gaunt 
sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  loud  scream,  and  stood 
glaring  at  Griffith  Gaunt,  and  he  at  her. 

And  thus  husband  and  wife  met  again — met, 
by  some  strange  caprice  of  Destiny,  on  the  very 
spot  where  they  had  parted  so  horribly. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

The  gaze  these  two  persons  bent  on  one  an- 
other may  be  half  imagined ;  it  can  never  be  de- 
scribed. 

Griffith  spoke  first.  "  In  black!"  said  he,  in 
a  whisper. 

His  voice  was  low ;  his  face,  though  pale  and 
grim,  had  not  the  terrible  aspect  he  wore  at 
parting. 

So  she  thought  he  had  come  back  in  an  ami- 
cable spirit,  and  she  flew  to  him  with  a  cry  of 
love,  and  threw  her  arm  round  his  neck,  and 
panted  on  his  shoulder. 

At  this  reception,  and  the  tremulous  contact 
of  one  he  had  loved  so  dearly,  a  strange  shudder 
ran  through  his  frame — a  shudder  that  marked 
his  present  repugnance,  yet  indicated  her  latent 
power. 

He  himself  felt  he  had  betrayed  some  weak- 
ness, and  it  Avas  all  the  worse  for  her.  He  caught 
her  wrist  and  put  her  from  him,  not  roughly,  but 
with  a  look  of  horror.  ' '  The  day  is  gone  by  for 
that, madam, "he  gasped.  Then, sternly, ' ' Think 
you  I  came  here  to  play  the  credulous  hus- 
band ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  drew  back  in  her  turn,  and  faltered 
out,  "What !  come  back  here,  and  not  sorry  for 


91 

what  you  have  done  ?  not  the  least  sorry  ?     Oh, 
my  heart !  you  have  almost  broken  it." 

"Prithee,  no  more  of  this,"  said  Griffith,  stern- 
ly. "  You  and  I  are  naught  to  one  another  now 
and  forever.  But  there,  you  are  but  a  woman, 
and  I  did  not  come  to  quarrel  with  you. "  And 
he  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  faltered  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
"Oh,  sir,  the  sight  of  you — the  thought  of  what 
you  were  to  me  once,  till  jealousy  blinded  you. 
Lend  me  your  arm,  if  you  are  a  man  ;  my  limbs 
do  fail  me. " 

The  shock  had  been  too  much  ;  a  pallor  over- 
spread her  lovely  features,  her  knees  knocked  to- 
gether, and  she  was  tottering  like  some  tender 
tree  cut  down,  when  Griffith,  who,  with  all  his 
faults,  was  a  man,  put  out  his  strong  arm,  and 
she  clung  to  it,  quivering  all  over,  and  weeping 
hysterically. 

That  little  hand,  with  its  little  feminine  clutch, 
trembling  on  his  arm,  raised  a  certain  male  com- 
passion for  her  piteous  condition,  and  he  bestowed 
a  few  cold,  sad  words  of  encouragement  on  her. 
"Come,  come,"  said  he,  gently,  "I  shall  not 
trouble  you  long.  I'm  cured  of  my  jealous}'. 
'Tis  gone,  along  with  my  love.  You  and  your 
saintly  sinner  are  safe  from  me.  I  am  come 
hither  for  my  own — my  two  thousand  pounds, 
and  for  nothing  more." 

"Ah !  you  are  come  back  for  money,  not  for 
me  ?"  she  murmured,  with  forced  calmness. 

"For  money,  and  not  for  you,  of  course,"  said 
he,  coldly. 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  his  mouth  Avhen 
the  proud  lady  flung  his  arm  from  her.  "Then 
money  shall  you  have,  and  not  me,  nor  aught  of 
me  but  my  contempt." 

But  she- could  not  carry  it  off  as  heretofore. 
She  turned  her  back  haughtily  on  him,  but  at 
the  first  step  she  burst  out  crying.  "  Come,  and 
I'll  give  you  what  you  are  come  for,"  she  sobbed. 
"  Ungrateful !  heartless !  Oh,  how  little  I  knew 
this  man!" 

She  crept  away  before  him,  drooping  her  head 
and  crying  bitterly ;  and  he  followed  her,  hang- 
ing his  head  and  ill  at  ease,  for  there  was  such 
true  passion  in  her  voice,  her  streaming  e\es, 
and  indeed  in  her  whole  body,  that  he  was 
moved,  and  the  part  he  was  playing  revolted 
him.  He  felt  confused  and  troubled,  and  asked 
himself  how  on  earth  it  was  that  she,  the  guilty 
one,  contrived  to  appear  the  injured  one,  and 
made  him,  the  wronged  one,  feel  almost  re- 
morseful. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  took  no  more  notice  of  him  now 
than  if  he  had  been  a  dog  following  at  her  heels. 
She  went  into  the  drawing-room,  and  sank  help- 
lessly on  the  nearest  couch ;  threw  her  head 
wearily  back,  and  shut  her  eyes.  Yet  the  tears 
trickled  through  the  closed  lids. 

Griffith  caught  up  a  hand-bell  and  rang  it 
vigorously. 

Quick,  light  steps  were  soon  heard  pattering, 
and  in  darted  Caroline  Ryder  with  an  anxious 
face,  for  of  late  she  had  conceived  a  certain  so- 
ber regard  for  her  mistress,  who  had  ceased  to 
be  her  successful  rival,  and  who  bore  her  grief 
like  a  man. 

At  sight  of  Griffith,  Ryder  screamed  aloud 
and  stood  panting. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  opened  her  eyes.     "Ay,  child,  he 


92 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


has  come  home,"  said  she,  bitterly;  "his  body, 
but  not  his  heart." 

She  stretched  her  hand  out  feebly,  and  pointed 
to  a  bottle  of  salts  that  stood  on  the  table.  Ryder 
ran  and  put  them  to  her  nostrils.  Mrs.  Gaunt 
whispered  in  her  ear,  ' '  Send  a  swift  horse  for 
Father  Francis ;  tell  him  life  or  death !" 

Ryder  gave  her  a  very  intelligent  look,  and 
presently  slipped  out  and  ran  into  the  stable- 
yard. 

At  the  gate  she  caught  sight  of  Griffith's  horse. 
What  does  this  quick-witted  creature  do  but 
send  the  groom  off  on  that  horse,  and  not  on 
Mrs.  Gaunt's. 

"Now,  dame,"  said  Griffith,  doggedly,  "are 
you  better  ?" 

"Ay,  I  thank  you." 

"  Then  listen  to  me.  When  you  and  I  set  up 
house  together,  I  had  two  thousand  pounds.  I 
spent  it  on  this  house.  The  house  is  yours. 
You  told  me  so,  one  day,  you  know." 

"Ah !  you  can  remember  my  faults." 

1 '  I  remember  all,  Kate. " 

"Thank  you,  at  least,  for  calling  me  Kate. 
Well,  Griffith, since  you  abandoned  us,  I  thought, 
and  thought,  and  thought  of  all  that  might  be- 
fall you,  and  I  said,  'What  will  he  do  for  money  ?' 
My  jewels,  that  you  did  me  the  honor  to  take, 
would  not  last  you  long,  I  feared ;  so  I  reduced 
my  expenses  three  fourths  at  least,  and  I  put  by 
some  money  for  your  need." 

Griffith  looked  amazed.  "For  my  need?" 
said  he. 

"For  whose  else?  I'll  send  for  it,  and  place 
it  in  your  hands — to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  ?     Why  not  to-day  ?" 

"I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you  first." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Justice.  If  you  are  fond  of  money,  I  too 
have  something  I  prize — my  honor.  You  have 
belied  and  insulted  me,  sir ;  but  I  know  you 
were  under  a  delusion.  I  mean  to  remove  that 
delusion,  and  make,  you  see  how  little  I  am  to 
blame  ;  for,  alas !  I  own  I  was  imprudent.  But 
oh,  Griffith !  as  I  hope  to  be  saved,  it  was  the 
imprudence  of  innocence  and  over-confidence." 

"  Mistress,"  said  Griffith,  in  a  stern  yet  agi- 
tated voice,  "be  advised,  and  leave  all  this; 
rouse  not  a  man's  sleeping  wrath.  Let  by-gones 
be  by-gones." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  rose,  and  said  faintly,  "So  be  it. 
I  must  go,  sir,  and  give  some  orders  for  your 
entertainment." 

"Oh,  don't  put  yourself  about  for  me," said 
Griffith  ;  "  I  am  not  the  master  of  this  house." 

Mrs.  Gaunt's  lip  trembled,  but  she  was  a  match 
for  him.  "Then  you  are  my  guest,"  said  she, 
"and  my  credit  is  concerned  in  your  comfort." 

She  made  him  a  courtesy  as  if  he  were  a  stran- 
ger, and  marched  to  the  door,  concealing,  with 
great  pride  and  art,  a  certain  trembling  of  her 
knees. 

At  the  door  she  found  Ryder,  and  bade  her 
follow,  much  to  that  lady's  disappointment ;  for 
she  desired  a  tete-a-tete  with  Griffith,  and  an  ex- 
planation. 

As  soon  as  the  two  women  were  out  of  Grif- 
fith's hearing,  the  mistress  laid  her  hand  on  the 
servant's  arm,  and,  giving  way  to  her  feelings, 
said,  all  in  a  flutter,  "  Child,  if  I  have  been  a 
good  mistress  to  thee,  show  it  now.     Help  me 


keep  him  in  the  house  till  Father  Francis 
comes. " 

"I  undertake  to  do  so  much,"  said  Ryder, 
firmly.     "  Leave  it  to  me,  mistress." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  threw  her  arms  round  Ryder's  neck 
and  kissed  her. 

It  was  done  so  ardently,  and  by  a  woman  hith- 
erto so  dignified  and  proud,  that  Ryder  was  tak- 
en by  surprise,  and  almost  affected. 

As  for  the  service  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  asked  of 
her,  it  suited  her  own  designs. 

"Mistress,"  said  she,  "  be  ruled  by  me ;  keep 
out  of  his  way  a  bit  while  I  get  Miss  Rose  ready. 
You  understand." 

"Ah!  I  have  one  true  friend  in  the  house," 
said  poor  Mrs.  Gaunt.  She  then  confided  in  Ry- 
der, and  went  away  to-  give  her  own  orders  for 
Griffith's  reception. 

Ryder  found  little  Rose,  dressed  her  to  perfec- 
tion, and  told  her  her  dear  papa  was  come  home. 
She  then  worked  upon  the  child's  mind  in  that 
subtle  way  known  to  women,  so  that  Rose  went 
down  stairs  loaded  and  primed,  though  no  in- 
structions had  been  given  her. 

As  for  Griffith,  he  walked  up  and  down,  un- 
easy, and  wished  he  had  staid  at  the  "Pack- 
horse.  "  He  had  not  bargained  for  all  these  emo- 
tions ;  the  peace  of  mind  he  had  enjoyed  for 
some  months  seemed  trickling  away. 

"  Mercy,  my  dear,"  said  he  to  himself,  "'twill 
be  a  dear  penny  to  me,  I  doubt. " 

Then  he  went  to  the  window,  and  looked  at 
the  lawn,  and  sighed.  Then  he  sat  down  and 
thought  of  the  past. 

While  he  sat  thus- moody,  the  door  opened  very 
softly,  and  a  little  cherubic  face,  with  blue  eyes 
and  golden  hair,  peeped  in.  Griffith  started. 
"Ah!"  cried  Ro.^e,  with  a  joyful  scream,  and 
out  flew  her  little  arms,  and  away  she  came,  half 
running,  half  dancing,  and  was  on  his  knee  in  a 
moment,  with  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"Papa!  papa!"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  my  dear, 
dear,  dear,  darling  papa  !"  And  she  kissed  and 
patted  his  cheek  again  and  again. 

Her  innocent  endearments  moved  him  to  tears. 
"  My  pretty  angel !"  he  sighed ;  "  my  lamb  !" 

"  How  your  heart  beats — don't  cry,  dear  papa. 
Nobody  is  dead,  only  we  thought  you  were.  I'm 
so  glad  you  are  come  home  alive.  Now  we  can 
take  off  this  nasty  black  ;  I  hate  it." 

"  What !  'tis  for  me  you  wear  it,  pretty  one  ?" 

"  Ay.  Mamma  made  us.  Poor  mamma  has 
been  so  unhappy.  And  that  reminds  me — you 
are  a  wicked  man,  papa.  But  I  love  you  all 
one  for  that.  It  tis  so  dull  when  every  body  is 
good  like  mamma ;  and  she  makes  me  dreadful- 
ly good  too  ;  but  now  you  are  come  back,  there 
will  be  a  little,  little  wickedness  again,  it  is  to  be 
hoped.  Aren't  you  glad  you  are  not  dead,  and 
are  come  home  instead?     I  am." 

"  I  am  glad  I  have  seen  thee.  Come,  take  my 
hand,  and  let  us  go  look  at  the  old  place. " 

"Ay.  But  you  must  wait  till  I  get  on  my 
new  hat  and  feather." 

"  Nay,  nay — art  pretty  enough  bareheaded." 

"Oh,  papa!  but  I  must,  for  decency.  You 
are  company  now,  you  know." 

"  Dull  company,  sweetheart,  thou'lt  find  me." 

1 '  I  don't  mean  that :  I  mean,  when  you  were 
here  always,  you  were  only  papa  ;  but  now  you 
come  once  in  an  age,  you're  company.  1  won't 
budge  without  'em  ;  so  there,  now." 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


93 


"Well,  little  one,  I  do  submit  to  thy  hat  and 
feather ;  only  be  quick,  or  I  shall  go  forth  with- 
out thee." 

"If  you  dare,"  said  Rose,  impetuously ;  "for 
I  won't  be  half  a  moment. " 

She  ran  and  extorted  from  Ryder  the  new  hat 
and  feather,  which  by  rights  she  was  not  to  have 
worn  until  next  month. 

Griffith  and  his  little  girl  went  all  over  the 
well-known  premises,  he  sad  and  moody,  she  ex- 
cited and  chattering,  and  nodding  her  head  down, 
and  cocking  her  eye  up  every  now  and  then,  to 
get  a  glimpse  of  her  feather. 

"And  don't  you  go  away  again,  dear  papa. 
It  tis  so  dull  without  you.  Nobody  comes  here. 
Mamma  won't  let  'em. " 

"  Nobody  except  Father  Leonard,"  said  Grif- 
fith, bitterly. 

"Father  Leonard?  Why,  he  never  comes 
here.  Leonard !  That  is  the  beautiful  priest 
that  used  to  pat  me  on  the  head,  and  bid  me  love 
and  honor  my  parents.  And  so  I  do.  Only 
mamma  is  always  crying,  and  you  keep  away ; 
so  how  can  I  love  and  honor  you  when  I  never 
see  you,  and  they  keep  telling  me  you  are  good 
for  nothing,  and  dead." 

"  My  young  mistress,  when  did  you  see  Fa- 
ther Leonard  last  ?"  said  Griffith,  gnawing  his  lip. 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  Why,  it  was  miles  ago — 
when  I  was  a  mere  girl.  You  know  he  went 
away  before  you  did. ': 

"I  know  nothing  of  the  kind.  Tell  me  the 
truth,  now.  He  has  visited  here  since  I  went 
away." 

"  Nay,  papa." 

"  That  is  strange.     She  visits  him,  then  ?" 

"What,  mamma?  She  seldom  stirs  out,  and 
never  beyond  the  village.  We  keep  no  carriage 
now.  Mamma  is  turned  such  a  miser.  She  is 
afraid  you  will  be  poor ;  so  she  puts  it  all  by  for 
you.  But  now  you  are  come,  we  shall  have  car- 
riages and  things  again.  Oh,  by-the-by,  Father 
Leonard !  I  heard  them  say  he  had  left  England, 
so  I  did. " 

"When  was  that?" 

"Well,  I  think  that  was  a  little  bit  after  you 
went  away." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Griffith,  thoughtfully. 

He  led  his  little  girl  by  the  hand,  but  scarcely 
listened  to  her  prattle,  he  Avas  so  surprised  and 
puzzled  by  the  information  he  had  elicited  from 
her. 

Upon  the  whole,  however,  he  concluded  that 
his  wife  and  the  priest  had  perhaps  been  smitten 
with  remorse,  and  hajd  parted — when  it  was  too 
late. 

This,  and  the  peace  of  mind  he  had  found  else- 
where, somewhat  softened  his  feelings  toward 
them.  "  So,"  thought  he,  "they  were  not  hard- 
ened creatures,  after  all.     Poor  Kate !" 

As  these  milder  feelings  gained  on  him,  Rose 
suddenly  uttered  a  joyful  cry,  and,  looking  up,  he  J 
saw  Mrs.  Gaunt  coming  toward  him,  and  Ryder 
behind  her.     Both  were  in  gay  colors,  which,  in 
fact,  was  what  had  so  delighted  Rose. 

They  came  up,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  seemed  a 
changed  woman.  She  looked  young  and  beau-  I 
tiful,  and  bent  a  look  of  angelic  aifection  on  her  | 
daughter,  and  said  to  Griffith, "  Is  she  not  grown  ?  j 
Is  she  not  lovely  ?  Sure  you  will  never  desert  i 
her  again." 
.  "'Twas  not  her  I  deserted,  but  her  mother:  ' 


and  she   had  played   me   false  with  her  d— d 
priest,"  was  Griffith's  reply. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  drew  back  with  horror.  "This 
before  my  girl  ?"  she  cried.  « '  Griffith  Gaunt, 
you  lie!" 

And  this  time  it  was  the  woman  who  menaced 
the  man.  She  rose  to  six  feet  high,  and  advanced 
on  him  with  her  great  gray  eyes  flashing  flames 
at  him.  "  Oh  that  I  were  a  man  !"  she  cried  : 
"  this  insult  should  be  the  last.  I'd  lay  you  dead 
at  her  feet  and  mine." 

Griffith  actually  drew  back  a  step,  for  the  wrath 
of  such  a  woman  was  terrible — more  terrible,  per- 
haps, to  a  brave  man  than  to  a  coward. 

Then  he  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets  with  a 
dogged  air,  and  said,  grinding  his  teeth,  "But, 
as  you  are  not  a  man,  and  I'm  not  a  woman,  we 
can't  settle  it  that  way.  So  I  give  you  the  last 
word,  and  good-day.  I'm  sore  in  want  of  mon- 
ey, but  I  find  I  can't  pay  the  price  it  is  like  to 
cost  me.     Farewell." 

"  Begone  !"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt ;  "  and  this  time 
forever.  Ruffian  and  fool,  I  loathe  the  sight  of 
you." 

Rose  ran  weeping  to  her.  "Oh,  mamma, 
don't  quarrel  with  papa  ;"  then  back  to  Griffith, 
"  Oh,  papa,  don't  quarrel  with  mamma — for  my 
sake." 

Griffith  hung  his  head,  and  said,  in  a  broken 
voice,  "  No,  my  lamb,  we  twain  must  not  quarreV 
before  thee.  We  will  part  in  silence,  as  becomes 
those  that  once  were  dear,  and  have  thee  to  show 
for't.  Madam,  I  wish  you  all  health  and  happi- 
ness.    Adieu." 

He  turned  on  his  heel,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt  took 
Rose  to  her  knees,  and  bent  and  wept  over  her. 
Niobe  over  her  last  was  not  more  graceful  nor 
more  sad. 

As  for  Ryder,  she  stole  quietly  after  her  retir- 
ing master.  She  found  him  peering  about,  and 
asked  him  demurely  what  he  was  looking  for. 

"  My  good  black  horse,  girl,  to  take  me  from 
this  cursed  place.  Did  I  not  tie  him  to  yon 
gate?" 

"The  black  horse?  Why,  I  sent  him  for 
Father  Francis.  Nay,  listen  to  me,  master; 
you  know  I  was  always  your  friend,  and  hard 
upon  her.  Well,  since  you  went,  things  have 
come  to  pass  that  make  me  doubt.  I  begin  to 
fear  you  were  too  hasty. " 

"Do  you  tell  me  this  now,  woman?"  cried 
Griffith,  furiously. 

"  How  could  I  tell  you  before?  Why  did  you 
break  your  tryst  with  me  ?  If  you  had  come 
according  to  your  letter,  I'd  have  told  you 
months  ago  what  I  tell  you  now ;  but,  as  I  was 
saying,  the  priest  never  came  near  her  after  you 
left,  and  she  never  stirred  abroad  to  meet  him. 
More  than  that,  he  has  left  England." 

"Remorse!     Too  late." 

"Perhaps  it  may,  sir.  I  couldn't  say;  but 
there  is  one  coming  that  knows  the  very  truth." 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  Father  Francis.  The  moment  you  came, 
sir,  I  took  it  on  me  to  send  for  him.  You  know 
the  man  ;  he  won't  tell  a  lie  to  please  our  dame. 
And  he  knows  all,  for  Leonard  has  confessed  to 
him.  I  listened,  and  heard  him  say  as  much. 
Then,  master,  be  advised,  and  get  the  truth  from 
Father  Francis." 

Griffith  trembled.  "Francis  is  an  honest 
man,"  said  he;  "I'll  wait  till  he  comes.     But 


rv<« 


:> 


94 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


oh,  my  lass,  I  find  money  may  be  bought  too 
dear." 

' '  Your  chamber  is  ready,  sir,  and  your  clothes 
put  out.  Supper  is  ordered.  Let  me  show  you 
your  room.     We  are  all  so  happy  now." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  listlessly,  "  since  my  horse  is 
gone,  and  Francis  coming,  and  I'm  wearied  and 
sick  of  the  world,  do  what  you  will  with  me  for 
this  one  day." 

He  followed  her  mechanically  to  a  bedroom, 
where  was  a  bright  fire,  and  a  fine  shirt,  and  his 
silver-laced  suit  of  clothes  airing. 

A  sense  of  luxurious  comfort  struck  him  at 
the  sight. 

"Ay,"  he  said,  "  I'll  dress,  and  so  to  supper ; 
I'm  main  hungry.  It  seems  a  man  must  eat,  let 
his  heart  be  ever  so  sore. " 

Before  she  left  him,  Ryder  asked  him  coldly 
why  he  had  broken  his  appointment  with  her. 

"That  is  too  long  a  story  to  tell  you  now," 
said  he,  coolly. 

"  Another  time,  then,"  said  she;  and  went  out 
smiling,  but  bitter  at  heart. 

Griffith  had  a  good  wash,  and  enjoyed  certain 
little  conveniences  which  he  had  not  at  the 
"  Packhorse."  He  doffed  his  riding-suit,  and 
donned  the  magnificent  dress  Ryder  had  selected 
for  him ;  and  with  his  fine  clothes  he  somehow 
put  on  more  ceremonious  manners. 

He  came  down  to  the  dining-room.  To  his 
surprise,  he  found  it  illuminated  with  wax  can- 
dles, and  the  table  and  sideboard  gorgeous  with 
plate. 

Supper  soon  smoked  upon  the  board  ;  but, 
though  it  was  set  for  three,  nobody  else  ap- 
peared. 

Griffith  inquired  of  Ryder  whether  he  was  to 
sup  alone. 

She  replied,  "  My  mistress  desires  you  not  to 
wait  for  her.     She  has  no  stomach." 

"  Well,  then,  I  have,"  said  Griffith,  and  fell  to 
with  a  will. 

Ryder,  who  waited  on  this  occasion,  stood  and 
eyed  him  with  curiosity.  His  conduct  was  so 
unlike  a  woman's. 

Just  as  he  concluded,  the  door  opened,  and  a 
burly  form  entered.  Griffith  rose  and  embraced 
him  with  his  arms  and  lips,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  day.  "  Welcome,  thou  one  honest  priest !" 
said  he. 

"Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  my  long-lost  son!" 
said  the  cordial  Francis. 

"Sit  down,  man,  and  eat  with  me.  I'll  begin 
again,  for  you." 

"  Fresently,  squire ;  I've  work  to  do  first.  Go 
thou  and  bid  thy  mistress  to  come  hither  to 
me." 

Ryder,  to  whom  this  was  addressed,  went  out, 
and  left  the  gentlemen  together. 

Father  Francis  drew  out  of  his  pocket  two 
packets,  carefully  tied  and  sealed.  He  took  a 
knife  from  the  table  and  cut  the  strings,  and 
broke  the  seals.  Griffith  eyed  him  with  cu- 
riosity. 

Father  Francis  looked  at  him.  * ' These, "  said 
he,  very  gravely,  "are  the  letters  that  Brother 
Leonard  hath  written,  at  sundry  times,  to  Catha- 
rine Gaunt,  and  these  are  the  letters  Catharine 
Gaunt  hath  written  to  Brother  Leonard. " 

Griffith  trembled,  and  his  face  was  con- 
vulsed. 

"Let  me  read  them  at  once,"  said  he,  and 


stretched  out  his  hand,  with  eyes  like  a  dog's  in 
the  dark. 

Francis  withdrew  them  quietly.  "Not  till  she 
is  also  present,"  said  he. 

At  that,  Griffith's  good-nature,  multiplied  by 
a  good  supper,  took  the  alarm.  "  Come,  come, 
sir,"  said  he,  "  have  a  little  mercy.  I  know  you 
are  a  just  man,  and,  though  a  boon  companion, 
most  severe  in  all  matters  of  morality.  But,  I 
tell  you  plainly,  if  you  are  going  to  drag  this  poor 
woman  in  the  dirt,  I  shall  go  out  of  the  room. 
What  is  the  use  tormenting  her  ?  I've  told  her 
my  mind  before  her  own  child,  and  now  I  wish 
I  had  not.  When  I  caught  them  in  the  Grove 
I  lifted  my  hand  to  strike  her,  and  she  never 
winced  ;  1  had  better  have  left  that  alone  too, 
methinks.  D — n  the  women  ;  you  are  always 
in  the  wrong  if  you  treat  'em  like  men.  They 
are  not  wicked — they  are  weak.  And  this  one 
hath  lain  in  my  bosom,  and  borne  me  two  chil- 
dren, and  one  he  lieth  in  the  church-yard,  and 
t'other  hath  her  hair  and  my  very  eyes  ;  and  the 
truth  is,  I  can't  bear  any  man  on  earth  to  mis- 
call her  but  myself.  God  help  me  ;  I  doubt  I 
love  her  still  too  well  to  sit  by  and  see  her  tor- 
tured. She  was  all  in  black  for  her  fault,  poor 
penitent  wretch.  Give  me  the  letters,  but  let 
her  be." 

Francis  was  moved  by  this  appeal,  but  shook 
his  head  solemnly ;  and,  ere  Griffith  could  renew 
his  argument,  the  door  was  flung  open  by  Ryder, 
and  a  stately  figure  sailed  in  that  took  both  the 
gentlemen  by  surprise. 

It  was  Mrs.  Gaunt  in  full  dress — rich  brocade 
that  swept  the  ground  ;  magnificent  bust,  like 
Parian  marble  varnished ;  and  on  her  brow  a 
diadem  of  emeralds  and  diamonds  that  gave  her 
beauty  an  imperial  stamp. 

She  swept  into  the  room  as  only  fine  women 
can  sweep,  made  Griffith  a  haughty  courtesy, 
and  suddenly  lowered  her  head,  and  received 
Father  Francis's  blessing ;  then  seated  herself, 
and  quietly  awaited  events. 

' '  The  brazen  jade !"  thought  Griffith.  ' '  But 
how  divinely  beautiful!"  And  he  became  as 
agitated  as  she  was  calm — in  appearance.  For 
need  I  say  her  calmness  was  put  on — defensive 
armor  made  for  her  by  her  pride  and  her  sex  ? 

The  voice  of  Father  Francis  now  rose,  solid, 
grave,  and  too  impressive  to  be  interrupted. 

"  My  daughter,  and  you  who  are  her  husband 
and  my  friend,  I  am  here  to  do  justice  between 
you  both,  with  God's  help,  and  to  show  you  both 
your  faults. 

"  Catharine  Gaunt,  you  began  the  mischief  by 
encouraging  another  man  to  interfere  between 
you  and  your  husband  in  things  secular." 

"  But,  father,  he  was  my  director — my  priest." 

"  My  daughter,  do  you  believe,  with  the  Prot- 
estants, that  marriage  is  a  mere  civil  contract, 
or  do  you  hold,  with  us,  that  it  is  one  of  the  holy 
sacraments  ?" 

"Can  you  ask  me?"  murmured  Kate,  re- 
proachfully. 

"  Well,  then,  those  whom  God  and  the  whole 
Church  have  in  holy  sacrament  united,  what  right 
hath  a  single  priest  to  disunite  in  heart,  and 
make  the  wife  false  to  any  part  whatever  of  that 
most  holy  vow  ?  I  hear,  and  not  from  you,  that 
Leonard  did  set  you  against  your  husband's 
friends,  withdrew  you  from  society,  and  sent  him 
abroad  alone.    In  one  word,  he  robbed  your  hus- 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


05 


band  of  his  companion  and  his  friend.  The  sin 
was  Leonard's,  but  the  fault  was  yours.  You 
were  five  years  older  than  Leonard,  and  a  wom- 
an of  sense  and  experience ;  he  but  a  boy  by 
comparison.  What  right  had  you  to  surrender 
your  understanding,  in  a  matter  of  this  kind,  to 
a  poor  silly  priest,  fresh  from  his  seminary,  and 
as  manifestly  without  a  grain  of  common  sense 
as  he  was  full  of  piety  ?" 

This  remonstrance  produced  rather  a  striking 
effect  on  both  those  who  heard  it.  Mrs.  Gaunt 
seemed  much  struck  with  it.  She  leaned  back 
in  her  chair,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  brow  with 
a  sort  of  despairing  gesture  that  Griffith  could 
not  very  well  understand :  it  seemed  to  him  so 
disproportionate. 

It  softened  him,  however,  and  he  faltered  out, 
"  Ay,  father,  that  is  how  it  all  began.  Would 
to  heaven  it  had  stopped  there." 

Francis  resumed.  "  This  false  step  led  to  con- 
sequences you  never  dreamed  of;  for  one  of  your 
romantic  notions  is,  that  a  priest  is  an  angel.  I 
have  known  you,  in  former  times,  try  to  take  me 
for  an  angel ;  then  would  I  throw  cold  water  on 
your  folly  by  calling  lustily  for  chines  of  beef  and 
mugs  of  ale.  But  I  suppose  Leonard  thought 
himself  an  angel  too,  and  the  upshot  was,  he  fell 
in  love  with  his  neighbor's  wife." 

"And  she  with  him,"  groaned  Griffith. 

"Not  so,"  said  Francis;  "but  perhaps  she  was 
nearer  it  than  she  thinks." 

"Prove  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  "and  I'll  fall 
on  my  knees  to  him  before  you." 

Francis  smiled,  and  proceeded.  "To  be  sure, 
from  the  moment  you  discovered  Leonard  was  in 
love  with  you,  you  drew  back,  and  conducted 
yourself  with  prudence  and  propriety.  Read 
these  letters,  sir,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
them." 

He  handed  them  to  Griffith.  Griffith's  hand 
trembled  visibly  as  he  took  them. 

"Stay,"  said  Father  Francis;  "your  better 
way  will  be  to  read  the  whole  correspondence 
according  to  their  dates.  Begin  with  this  of 
Mrs.  Gaunt's." 

Griffith  read  the  letter  in  an  audible  whisper. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  turned  her  head  a  little,  and  for 
the  first  time  lowered  her  eyes  to  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

"Dear  Father  and  Friend, — The  words 
you  spoke  to  me  to-day  admit  but  one  meaning 
— you  are  jealous  of  my  husband. 

i '  Then  you  must  be — how  can  I  write  it  ? — 
almost  in  love  with  me. 

"So,  then,  my  poor  husband  was  wiser  than 
I.     He  saw  a  rival  in  you,  and  he  has  one. 

* '  I  am  deeply,  deeply  shocked.  I  ought  to  be 
very  angry  too ;  but,  thinking  of  your  solitary 
condition,  and  all  the  good  you  have  done  to  my 
soul,  my  heart  has  no  place  for  naught  but  pity. 
Only,  as  I  am  in  my  senses  and  you  are  not,  you 
must  now  obey  me,  as  heretofore  I  have  obeyed 
you.  You  must  seek  another  sphere  of  duty 
without  delay. 

"These  seem  harsh  words  from  me  to  you. 
You  will  live  to  see  they  are  kind  ones. 

"  Write  me  one  line,  and  no  more,  to  say  you 
will  be  ruled  by  me  in  this. 

"God  and  the  saints  have  you  in  their  holy 


keeping.     So  prays  your  affectionate  and  sorrow- 
ful daughter  and  true  friend, 

"Catharine  Gaunt." 

"  Poor  soul !"  said  Griffith.  "  Said  I  not  that 
women  are  not  wicked,  but  weak  ?  Who  would 
think  that  after  all  this  he  could  get  the  better 
of  her  good  resolves — the  villain !" 

"  Now  read  his  reply,"  said  F'ather  Francis. 

"Ay,"  said  Griffith.  "  So  this  is  his  one  word 
of  reply,  is  it?  three  pages  closely  Avrit— the  vil- 
lain !  oh  the  villain !" 

"Read  the  villain's  letter,"  said  Francis, 
calmly. 

The  letter  was  very  humble  and  pathetic  ;  the 
reply  of  a  good  though  erring  man,  who  owned 
that,  in  a  moment  of  weakness,  he  had  been  be- 
trayed into  a  feeling  inconsistent  with  his  holy 
profession.  He  begged  his  correspondent,  how- 
ever, not  to  judge  him  quite  so  hardly.  He  re- 
minded her  of  his  solitary  life,  his  natural  mel- 
ancholy, and  assured  her  that  all  men  in  his  con- 
dition had  moments  when  they  envied  those 
whose  bosoms  had  partners.  "Such  a  cry  of 
anguish,"  said  he,  "was  once  wrung  from  a 
maiden  queen,  maugre  all  her  pride.  The  Queen 
of  Scots  hath  a  son,  and  I  am  but  a  barren 
stock. "  He  went  on  to  say  that  prayer  and  vig- 
ilance united  do  much.  "  Do  not  despair  so 
soon  of  me.  Flight  is  not  cure  ;  let  me  rather 
stay,  and,  with  God's  help  and  the  saints',  over- 
come this  unhappy  weakness.  If  I  fail,  it  will 
indeed  be  time  for  me  to  go  and  never  again  see 
the  angelic  face  of  my  daughter  and  my  benefac- 
tress. " 

Griffith  laid  down  the  letter.  He  was  some- 
what softened  by  it,  and  said,  gently,  "  I  can  not 
understand  it.  This  is  not  the  letter  of  a  thor- 
ough bad  man  neither." 

"No,"  said  Father  Francis,  coldly,  "'tis  the 
letter  of  a  self-deceiver ;  and  there  is  no  more 
dangerous  man,  to  himself  and  others,  than  your 
self-deceiver.  But  now  let  us  see  whether  he 
can  throw  dust  in  her  eyes  as  well  as  his  own." 
And  he  handed  him  Kate's  reply. 

The  first  word  of  it  was,  "You  deceive  your- 
self." The  writer  then  insisted,  quietly,  that  he 
owed  it  to  himself,  to  her,  and  to  her  husband, 
whose  happiness  he  was  destroying,  to  leave  the 
place  at  her  request. 

"  Either  you  must  go,  or  I,"  said  she;  "and 
pray  let  it  be  you.  Also  this  place  is  unworthy 
of  your  high  gifts  ;  and  I  love  you,  in  my  way,  the 
way  I  mean  to  love  you  when  we  meet  again — 
in  Heaven ;  and  I  labor  your  advancement  to  a 
sphere  more  worthy  of  you." 

I  wish  space  permitted  me  to  lay  the  whole 
correspondence  before  the  reader,  but  I  must  con- 
fine myself  to  its  general  purport. 

It  proceeded  in  this  way :  the  priest,  humble, 
eloquent,  pathetic,  but  gently,  yet  pertinaciously 
clinging  to  the  place  ;  the  lady  gentle,  wise,  and 
firm,  detaching  with  her  soft  fingers  first  one 
hand,  then  another,  of  the  poor  priest's,  till  at  last 
he  was  driven  to  the  sorry  excuse  that  he  had  no 
money  to  travel  with  nor  place  to  go  to. 

"I  can't  understand  it, "  said  Griffith.  "Are 
these  letters  all  forged,  or  are  there  two  Kate 
Gaunts  ? — the  one  that  wrote  these  prudent  let- 
ters, and  the  one  I  caught  upon  this  very  priest's 
arm.     Perdition!" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  started  to  her  feet.     "Methinks 


96- 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OH,  JEALOUSY. 


'tis  time  for  me  to  leave  the  room,"  said  she, 
scarlet. 

' '  Gently,  my  good  friends ;  one  thing  at  a 
time,"  said  Francis.  "Sit  thou  down,  impetu- 
ous.    The  letters,  sir,  what  think  you  of  them  ?" 

"  I  see  no  harm  in  them,"  said  Griffith. 

"  No  harm !  is  that  all  ?  But  I  say  these  are 
very  remarkable  letters,  sir  ;  and  they  show  us 
that  a  woman  may  be  innocent  and  unsuspicious, 
and  so  seem  foolish,  yet  may  be  wise  for  all  that. 
In  her  early  communication  with  Leonard, 
"  'At  wisdom's  gate  Suspicion  slept, 
And  thought  no  ill  where  no  ill  seemed.' 

But,  you  see,  suspicion  being  once  aroused,  wis- 
dom was  not  to  be  lulled  nor  blinded.  But  that 
is  not  all :  these  letters  breathe  a  spirit  of  Chris- 
tian charity;  of  true,  and  rare,  and  exalted  piety; 
tender  are  they,  without  passion  ;  wise,  yet  not 
cold ;  full  of  conjugal  love,  and  of  filial  pity  for 
an  erring  father,  whom  she  leads,  for  his  good, 
with  firm  yet  dutiful  hand.  Trust  to  any  great 
experience  ;  doubt  the  chastity  of  snow  rather 
than  hers  who  could  write  these  pure  and  exqui- 
site lines.  My  good  friend,  you  heard  me  rebuke 
and  sneer  at  this  poor  lady  for  being  too  inno- 
cent and  unsuspicious  of  man's  frailty ;  now  hear 
me  own  to  you  that  I  could  no  more  have  written 
these  angelic  letters  than  a  barn-door  fowl  could 
soar  to  the  mansions  of  the  saints  in  Heaven." 

This  unexpected  tribute  took  Mrs.  Gaunt's 
heart  by  storm ;  she  threw  her  arms  round 
Father  Francis's  neck,  and  wept  upon  his  shoul- 
der. 

"  Ah !"  she  sobbed, ' '  you  are  the  only  one  left 
that  loves  me." 

She  could  not  understand  justice  praising  her ; 
it  must  be  love. 

"Ay,"  said  Griffith,  in  a  broken  voice,  "she 
writes  like  an  angel,  she  speaks  like  an  angel,  she 
looks  like  an  angel.  My  heart  says  she  is  an 
angel,  but  my  eyes  have  shown  me  she  is  naught. 
I  left  her  unable  to  walk,  by  her  way  of  it ;  I 
came  back,  and  found  her  on  that  priest's  arm, 
springing  along  like  a  greyhound."  He  buried 
his  head  in  his  hands,  and  groaned  aloud. 

Francis  turned  to  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  said,  a  lit- 
tle severely,  "  How  do  you  account  for  that?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  father,"  said  Kate,  "because 
you  love  me.  I  do  not  speak  to  you,  sir,  for  you 
never  loved  me. " 

"I  could  give  thee  the  lie,"  said  Griffith,  in 
a  trembling  voice,  "  but  'tis  not  worth  while. 
Know,  sir,  that  within  twenty-four  hours  after  I 
caught  her  with  that  villain,  I  lay  a  dying  for 
her  sake,  and  lost  my  wits ;  and,  when  I  came  to, 
they  were  a  making  my  shroud  in  the  very  room 
where  I  lay.  No  matter — no  matter — 1  never 
loved  her." 

"Alas!  poor  soul!"  sighed  Kate;  "  would  I 
had  died  ere  I  brought  thee  to  that!"  And, 
with  this,  they  both  began  to  cry  at  the  same 
moment. 

"  Ay,  poor  fools !"  said  Father  Francis,  softly, 
' '  neither  of  ye  loved  t'other,  that  is  plain.  So 
now  sit  you  there,  and  let  us  have  your  explana- 
tion ;  for  you  must  own  appearances  are  strong 
against  you." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  drew  her  stool  to  Francis's  knee, 
and,  addressing  herself  to  him  alone,  explained 
as  follows : 

"  I  saw  Father  Leonard  was  giving  way,  and 
only  wanted  one  good  push,  after  a   manner. 


Well,  you  know  I  had  got  him,  by  my  friends,  a 
good  place  in  Ireland,  and  I  had  money  by  me 
for  his  journey  ;  so,  when  my  husband  talked  of 
going  to  the  fair,  I  thought,  '  Oh,  if  I  could  but 
get  this  settled  to  his  mind  before  he  comes 
back.'  So  I  wrote  a  line  to  Leonard.  You  can 
read  it  if  you  like.  'Tis  dated  the  30th  of  Sep- 
tember, I'  suppose. " 

"I  will,"  said  Francis,  and  read  this  out : 

"Dear  Father  aud  Friend, — You  have 
fought  the  good  fight  and  conquered.  Now, 
therefore,  I  will  see  you  once  more,  and  thank 
you  for  my  husband  (he  is  so  unhappy,),  and  put 
the  money  for  your  journey  into  your  hand  my- 
self— your  journey  to  Ireland.  You  are  the 
Duke  "of  Leinster's  chaplain,  for  I  have  accepted 
that  place  for  you.  Let  me  see  you  to-morrow 
in  the  grove,  for  a  few  minutes,  at  high  noon. 
God  bless  you.  Catharine  Gaunt." 

' '  Well,  father, "  said  Mrs.  Gaunt, ' '  'tis  true  that 
I  could  only  walk  two  or  three  times  across  the 
room.  But,  alack,  you  know  what  women  are ; 
excitement  gives  us  strength.  With  thinking 
that  our  unhappiness  was  at  an  end ;  that,  when 
he  should  come  back  from  the  fair,  I  should  fling 
my  arm  round  his  neck,  and  tell  him  I  had  re- 
moved the  cause  of  his  misery,  and  so  of  mine, 
I  seemed  to  have  wings ;  and  I  did  walk  with 
Leonard,  and  talked  with  rapture  of  the  good  he 
was  to  do  in  Ireland,  and  how  he  was  to  be  a 
mitred  abbot  one  day  (for  he  is  a  great  man), 
and  poor  little  me  be  proud  of  him ;  and  how  we 
were  all  to  be  happy  together  in  heaven,  where  is 
no  marrying  nor  giving  in  marriage.  This  was 
our  discourse ;  and  I  was  just  putting  the  purse 
into  his  hands,  and  bidding  him  God-speed,  when 
he — for  Avhom  I  fought  against  my  woman's  na- 
ture, and  took  this  trying  task  upon  me — broke  in 
upon  us  with  the  face  of  a  fiend,  trampled  on  the 
poor  good  priest,  that  deserved  veneration  and 
consolation  from  him,  of  all  men,  and  raised  his 
hand  to  me,  and  was  not  man  enough  to  kill  me 
after  all,  but  called  me — ask  him  Avhat  he  called 
me  ;  see  if  he  dares  say  it  again  before  you ;  and 
then  ran  away,  like  a  coward  as  he  is,  from  the 
lady  he  had  defiled  with  his  rude  tongue,  and  the 
heart  he  had  broken.  Forgive  him  ?  that  I  never 
will — never — never !" 

"Who  asked  you  to  forgive  him?"  said  the 
shrewd  priest.  "  Your  oavii  heart.  Come,  look 
at  him." 

"Not  I,"  said  she,  irresolutely.  Then,  still 
more  feebly,  "He  is  naught  to  me,"  and  so  stole 
a  look  at  him. 

Griffith,  pale  as  ashes,  had  his  hand  on  his 
brow,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  with  horror  and  re- 
morse. 

"  Something  tells  me  she  has  spoken  the 
truth,"  he  said,  in  a  quavering  voice.  Then, 
with  concentrated  horror,  "  But,  if  so — oh  God, 
what  have  I  done  ?     What  shall  I  do  ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  extended  her  arms  toward  him, 
across  the  priest. 

"  Why,  fall  at  thy  wife's  knees,  and  ask  her  to 
forgive  thee." 

Griffith  obeyed.  He  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
Mrs.  Gaunt  leaned  her  head  on  Francis's  shoul- 
der, and  gave  her  hand  across  him  to  her  re- 
morse-stricken husband. 

Neither  spoke  nor  desired  to  speak  ;  anc:  even 
Father  Francis   sat    silent,  and   enjoyed   that 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


07 


sweet  glow  which  sometimes  Messes  the  peace- 
maker, even  in  this  world  of  wrangles  and  jars. 

But  the  good  soul  had  ridden  hard,  and  the 
neglected  meats  emitted  savory  odors,  and  by- 
and-by  he  said,  dryly,  "I  wonder  whether  that 
fat  pullet  tastes  as  well  as  it  smells :  can  you 
tell  me,  squire  ?" 

"Oh,  inhospitable  wretch  that  I  am,"  said 
Mrs,  Gaunt,  "  I  thought  but  of  my  own  heart." 

"And  forgot  the  stomach  of  your  unspiritual 
father.  But,  madam,  you  are  pale — vou  trem- 
ble." 

"'Tis  nothing,  sir;  I  shall  soon  be  better. 
Sit  you  down  and  sup ;  I  will  return  anon." 

She  retired,  not  to  make  a  fuss  ;  but  her  heart 
palpitated  violently,  and  she  had  to  sit  down  on 
the  stairs. 

Ryder,  who  was  prowling  about,  found  her 
there,  and  fetched  her  hartshorn. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  got  better,  but  felt  so  languid,  and 
also  hysterical,  that  she  retired  to  her  own  room 
for  the  night,  attended  by  the  faithful  Ryder,  to 
whom  she  confided  that  a  reconciliation  had 
taken  place,  and,  to  celebrate  it,  gave  her  a  dress 
she  had  only  Avorn  a  year.  This  does  not  sound 
queenly  to  you  ladies ;  but  know  that  a  week's 
wear  tells  far  more  on  the  flimsy  trash  you  wear 
nowadays,  than  a  year  did  on  the  glorious  silks 
of  Lyons  Mrs.  Gaunt  put  on — thick  as  broad- 
cloth, and  embroidered  so  cunningly  by  the  loom 
that  it  would  pass  for  rarest  needle-work.  Be- 
sides, in  those  days,  silk  was  silk. 

As  Ryder  left  her,  she  asked,  "Where  is  the 
master  to  lie  to-night  ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  not  pleased  at  this  question 
being  put  to  her.  Being  a  singular  mixture  of 
frankness  and  finesse,  she  had  retired  to  her  own 
room  partly  to  test  Griffith's  heart.  If  he  was 
as  sincere  as  she  was,  he  would  not  be  content 
with  a  public  reconciliation. 

But  the  question  being  put  to  her  plump,  and 
by  one  of  her  own  sex,  she  colored  faintly,  and 
said,  "  Why,  is  there  not  a  bed  in  his  room?" 

"  Oh  yes,  madam." 

"Then  see  it  be  well  aired.  Put  down  all  the 
things  before  the  fire,  and  then  tell  me ;  I'll  come 
and  see.  The  feather  bed,  mind,  as  well  as  the 
sheets  and  blankets." 

Ryder  executed  all  this  with  zeal.  She  did 
more :  though  Griffith  and  Francis  sat  up  very 
late,  she  sat  up  too ;  and,  on  the  gentlemen 
leaving  the  supper-room,  she  met  them  both, 
with  bed-candles,  in  a  delightful  cap,  and  un- 
dertook, with  cordial  smiles,  to  show  them  both 
their  chambers. 

"  Tread  softly  on  the  landing,  an'  if  it  please 
you,  gentlemen.  My  mistress  hath  been  unwell, 
but  she  is  in  a  fine  sleep  now,  by  the  blessing, 
and  I  would  not  have  her  disturbed." 

Father  Francis  went  to  bed  thoughtful.  There 
was  something  about  Griffith  he  did  not  like ; 
the  man  every  now  and  then  broke  out  into  bois- 
terous raptures,  and  presently  relapsed  into  moody 
thoughtfulness.  Francis  almost  feared  that  his 
cure  was  only  temporary. 

In  the  morning,  before  he  left,  he  drew  Mrs. 
Gaunt  aside,  and  told  her  his  misgivings.  She 
replied  that  she  thought  she  knew  what  was 
amiss,  and  would  soon  set  that  right. 

Griffith  tossed  and  turned  in  his  bed,  and 
spent  a  stormy  night.  His  mind  was  in  a  con- 
G 


fused  whirl,  and  his  heart  distracted.  The  wife 
he  had  truly  loved  so  tenderly  proved  to  be  the 
very  reverse  of  all  he  had  lately  thought  her ! 
She  was  pure  as  snow,  and  had  always  loved  him ' 
— loved  him  now,  and  only  wanted  a  good  ex- 
cuse to  take  him  to  her  arms  again.  But  Mercy 
Vint — his  wife,  his  benefactress — a  woman  as 
chaste  as  Kate,  as  strict  in  life  and  morals — 
what  was  to  become  of  her  ?  How  could  he  tell 
her  she  was  not  his  wife  ?  how  reveal  to  her  her 
own  calamity  and  his  treason?  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  desert  her  without  a  word!  and 
leave  her  hoping,  fearing,  pining,  all  her  life! 
Affection,  humanity,  gratitude  alike  forbade  it. 

He  came  down  in  the  morning,  pale  for  him, 
and  worn  with  the  inward  struggle. 

Naturally  there  was  a  restraint  between  him 
and  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  only  short  sentences  passed 
between  them. 

He  saw  the  peacemaker  off,  and  then  wander- 
ed all  over  the  premises,  and  the  past  came  near- 
er, and  the  present  seemed  to  retire  into  the 
background. 

He  wandered  about  like  one  in  a  dream,  and 
was  so  self-absorbed  that  he  did  not  see  Mrs. 
Gaunt  coming  toward  him  with  observant  eyes. 

She  met  him  full;  he  started  like  a  guilty 
thing. 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  me  ?"  said  she,  sweetly. 

' '  No,  my  dear,  not  exactly ;  and  yet  I  am — 
afraid,  or  ashamed,  or  both." 

"You  need  not.  I  said  I  forgive  you;  and 
you  know  I  am  not  one  that  does  things  by 
halves." 

"You  are  an  angel !"  said  he,  warmly ;  "but 
(suddenly  relapsing  into  despondency)  we  shali 
never  be  happy  together  again." 

She  sighed.  "  Say  not  so.  Time  and  sweet 
recollections  may  heal  even  this  wound  by  de- 
grees. " 

' '  God  grant  it, "  said  he,  despairingly. 

"And,  though  we  can't  be  lovers  again  all  at 
once,  we  may  be  friends ;  to  begin,  tell  me, 
what  have  you  on  your  mind?  Come,  make  a 
friend  of  me. " 

He  looked  at  her  in  alarm. 

She  smiled.      "  Shall  I  guess  ?"  said  she. 

"  You  will  never  guess, "  said  he,  ' '  and  I  shall 
never  have  the  heart  to  tell  you." 

' '  Let  me  try.  Well,  I  think  you  have  run  in 
debt,  and  are  afraid  to  ask  me  for  the  money. " 

Griffith  was  greatly  relieved  by  this  conjecture. 
He  drew  a  long  breath  ;  and,  after  a  pause,  said, 
cunningly,  "What  made  you  think  that  ?" 

"Because  you  came  here  for  money,  and  not 
for  happiness.     You  told  me  so  in  the  Grove." 

"That  is  true.  What  a  sordid  wretch  you 
must  think  me!" 

"No,  because  you  were  under  a  delusion. 
But  I  do  believe  you  are  just  the  man  to  turn 
reckless  when  you  thought  me  false,  and  go 
drinking  and  dicing."  She  added,  eagerly,  " I 
do  not  suspect  you  of  any  thing  worse." 

He  assured  her  that  was  not  the  way  of  it. 

"  Then  tell  me  the  way  of  it.  You  must  not 
think,  because  I  pester  you  not  with  questions,  I 
have  no  curiosity.  Oh,  how  often  have  I  longed 
to  be  a  bird,  and  watch  you  day  and  night  un- 
seen. How  would  you  have  liked  that  ?  I  wish 
you  had  been  one,  to  watch  me.  Ah !  you  don't 
answer.  Could  you  have  borne  so  close  an  in- 
spection, sir  ?" 


98 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT :  OK,  JEALOUSY. 


Griffith  shuddered  at  the  idea,  and  his  eyes 
fell  before  the  full  gray  orbs  of  his  wife. 

"Well,  never  mind,"  said  she  ;  "  tell  me  your 
story." 

"Well,  then,  when  I  left  you  I  was  raving 
mad." 

"  That  is  true,  I'll  be  sworn." 
"I  let  my  horse  go,  and  he  took  me  near  a 
hundred  miles  from  here,  and  stopped  at — at — a 
farm-house.     The  good  people  took  me  in." 

"  God  bless  them  for  it.  I'll  ride  and  thank 
them." 

"  Nay,  nay,  'tis  too  far.  There  I  fell  sick  of  a 
fever — a  brain-fever:  the  doctor  blooded  me." 
"  Alas !  would  he  had  taken  mine  instead." 
"And  I  lost  my  wits  for  several  days;  and 
when  I  came  back  I  was  weak  as  water,  and 
given  up  by  the  doctor ;  and  the  first  thing 
I  saw  was  an  old  hag  set  a  making  of  my 
shroud." 

Here  the  narrative  was  interrupted  a  moment 
by  Mrs.  Gaunt  seizing  him  convulsively,  and  then 
holding  him  tenderly,  as  if  he  was  even  now  about 
to  be  taken  from  her. 

"  The  good  people  nursed  me,  and  so  did  their 
daughter,  and  I  came  back  from  the  grave.  I 
took  an  inn ;  but  I  gave  up  that,  and  had  to  pay 
forfeit ;  and  so  my  money  all  went ;  but  they 
kept  me  on.  To  be  sure,  I  helped  on  the  farm  : 
they  kept  a  hostelry  as  well.  By-and-by  came 
that  murrain  ampng  the  cattle.  Did  you  have 
it  in  these  parts  too  ?" 

"  I  know  not,  nor  care.  Prithee  leave  cattle, 
and  talk  of  thyself." 

"Well,  in  a  word,  they  were  ruined,  and  go- 
ing to  be  sold  up.  I  could  not  bear  that :  I  be- 
came bondsman  for  the  old  man.  It  was  the 
least  I  could  do.  Kate,  they  had  saved  thy  hus- 
band's life." 

"  Not  a  word  more,  Griffith.    How  much  stand 
you  pledged  for  ?" 
"A  large  sum." 

"  Would  five  hundred  pounds  be  of  any  avail  ?" 
"Five  hundred  pounds !     Ay,  that  it  would, 
and  to  spare  ;  but  where  can  I  get  so  much  mon- 
ey?   And  the  time  so  short." 

"  Give  me  thy  hand,  and  come  with  me,"  said 
Mrs.  Gaunt,  ardently. 

She  took  his  hand,  and  made  a  swift  rush 
across  the  lawn.  It  was  not  exactly  running  nor 
•walking,  but  some  grand  motion  she  had  when 
excited.  She  put  him  to  his  stride  to  keep  up 
with  her  at  all,  and  in  two  minutes  she  had  him 
into  her  boudoir.  She  unlocked  a  bureau  all  in 
a  hurry,  and  took  out  a  bag  of  gold.  "  There !" 
she  cried,  thrusting  it  into  his  hand,  and  bloom- 
ing all  over  with  joy  and  eagerness  ;  "I  thought 
you  would  want  money,  so  I  saved  it  up.  You 
shall  not  be  in  debt  a  day  longer.  Now  mount 
thy  horse,  and  carry  it  to  those  good  souls  ;  only, 
for  my  sake,  take  the  gardener  with  thee— I  have 
no  groom  now  but  he — and  both  well  armed." 
"  What !  go  this  very  day  ?" 
"  Ay,  this  very  hour.  I  can  bear  thy  absence 
for  a  day  or  two  more,  I  have  borne  it  so  long, 
but  I  can  not  bear  thy  plighted  word  to  stand  in 
doubt  a  day — no,  not  an  hour.  I  am  your  wife, 
sir,  your  true  and  loving  wife ;  your  honor  is 
mine,  and  is  as  dear  to  me  now  as  it  was  when 
you  saw  me  with  Father  Leonard  in  the  Grove, 
and  read  me  all  awry.  Don't  wait  a  moment  ; 
begone  at  once. " 


"Nay,  nay,  if  I  go  to-morrow  I  shall  be  in 
time." 

"Ay,  but,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  very  softly,  "  I 
am  afraid  if  I  keep  you  another  hour  I  shall  not 
have  the  heart  to  let  you  go  at  all ;  and  the  soon- 
er gone,  the  sooner  back  for  good,  please  God. 
There,  give  me  one  kiss  to  live  on,  and  begone 
this  instant." 

He  covered  her  hands  with  kisses  and  tears. 
"  I'm  not  worthy  to  kiss  any  higher  than  thy 
hand,"  he  said,  and  so  ran  sobbing  from  her. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

He  went  straight  to  the  stable  and  saddled 
Black  Dick.  But,  in  the  very  act,  his  nature  re- 
volted. What,  turn  his  back  on  her  the  moment 
he  had  got  hold  of  her  money  to  take  to  the  oth- 
er !     He  could  not  do  it. 

He  went  back  to  her  room,  and  came  so  sud- 
denly that  he  caught  her  crying.  He  asked  her 
what  was  the  matter. 

"Nothing,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh;  "only  a 
woman's  foolish  misgivings.  I  was  afraid  per- 
haps you  would  not  come  back.     Forgive  me." 

"No  fear  of  that,"  said  he.  "  However,  I 
have  taken  a  resolve  not  to  go  to-day.  If  I  go 
to-morrow  I  shall  be  just  in  time,  and  Dick  wants 
a  good  day's  rest." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  said  nothing,  but  her  expressive 
face  was  triumphant. 

Griffith  and  she  took  a  walk  together,  and  he, 
who  used  to  be  the  more  genial  of  the  two,  was 
dull,  and  she  full  of  animation. 

This  whole  day  she  laid  herself  out  to  bewitch 
her  husband,  and  put  him  in  high  spirits. 

It  was  up-hill  work  ;  but,  when  such  a  woman 
sets  herself  in  earnest  to  delight  a  man,  she  reads 
our  sex  a  lesson  in  the  art  that  shows  us  we  are 
all  babies  at  it. 

However,  it  was  at  supper  she  finally  con- 
quered. 

Here  the  lights,  her  beauty  set  off  with  art, 
her  deepening  eyes,  her  satin  skin,  her  happy  ex- 
citement, her  wit  and  tenderness,  and  joyous 
sprightliness,  enveloped  Griffith  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  delight,  and  drove  every  thing  out  of 
his  head  but  herself;  and  with  this,  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  the  sparkling  wines  co-operated. 

Griffith  plied  the  bottle  a  little  too  freely. 
But  Mrs.  Gaunt,  on  this  one  occasion,  had  not 
the  heart  to  check  him.  The  more  he  toasted 
her,  the  more  uxorious  he  became,  and  she  could 
not  deny  herself  even  this  joy ;  but,  besides,  she 
had  less  of  the  prudent  wife  in  her  just  then  than 
of  the  weak,  indulgent  mother.  Any  thing  rath- 
er than  check  his  love  :  she  was  greedy  of  it. 

At  last,  however,  she  said  to  him,  "  Sweet- 
heart, I  shall  go  to  bed ;  for  I  see,  if  I  stay  lon- 
ger, I  shall  lead  thee  into  a  debauch.  Be  good, 
now ;  drink  no  more  when  I  am  gone,  else  1*11 
say  thou  lovest  thy  bottle  more  than  thy  wife. " 

He  promised  faithfully.  But,  when  she  was 
gone,  modified  his  pledge  by  drinking  just  one 
bumper  to  her  health,  which  bumper  let  in  an- 
other ;  and  when  at  last  he  retired  to  rest,  he 
was  in  that  state  of  mental  confusion  wherein 
the  limbs  appear  to  have  a  memory  independent 
of  the  mind. 

In  this  condition  do  some  men's  hands  wind 
up  their  watches,  the  mind  taking  no  appreciable 
part  in  the  ceremony. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


90 


By  some  such  act  of  what  physicians  call ' '  or- 
ganic memory,"  Griffith's  feet  carried  him  to  the 
chamber  he  had  slept  in  a  thousand  times,  and 
not  into  the  one  Mrs.  Ryder  had  taken  him  to 
the  night  before. 

The  next  morning  he  came  down  rather  late 
for  him,  and  found  himself  treated  with  a  great 
access  of  respect  by  the  servants. 

His  position  was  no  longer  doubtful ;  he  was 
the  master  of  the  house. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  followed  in  due  course,  and  sat  at 
breakfast  with  him,  looking  young  and  blooming 
as  Hebe,  and  her  eye  never  off  him  long. 

She  had  lived  temperately,  and  had  not  yet 
passed  the  age  when  happiness  can  restore  a 
woman's  beauty  and  brightness  in  a  single  day. 

As  for  him,  he  was  like  a  man  in  a  heavenly 
dream :  he  floated  in  the  past  and  the  present ; 
the  recent  and  the  future  seemed  obscure  and  dis- 
tant, and  comparatively  in  a  mist. 

But  that  same  afternoon,  after  a  most  affec- 
tionate farewell,  and  many  promises  to  return  as 
soon  as  ever  he  had  discharged  his  obligations, 
Griffith  Gaunt  started  for  the  "Packhorse,"  to 
carry  to  Mercy  Leicester,  alias  Vint,  the  money 
Catharine  Gaunt  had  saved  by  self-denial  and 
economy. 

And  he  went  south  a  worse  man  than  he  came. 

When  he  left  Mercy  Leicester,  he  was  a  big- 
amist in  law,  but  not  at  heart.  Kate  was  dead 
to  him ;  he  had  given  her  up  forever ;  and  was 
constant  and  true  to  his  new  wife. 

But  now  he  was  false  to  Mercy,  yet  not  true  to 
Kate ;  and,  curiously  enough,  it  was  a  day  or  two 
passed  with  his  lawful  wife  that  had  demoralized 
him.  His  unlawful  wife  had  hitherto  done  noth- 
ing but  improve  his  character. 

But  a  great  fault  once  committed  is  often  the 
first  link  in  a  chain  of  acts  that  look  like  crimes, 
but  are,  strictly  speaking,  consequences. 

This  man,  blinded  at  first  by  his  own  foible, 
and,  after  that,  the  sport  of  circumstances,  was 
single-hearted  by  nature,  and  his  conscience  was 
not  hardened.  He  desired  earnestly  to  free  him- 
self and  both  his  wives  from  the  Cruel  situation  ; 
but,  to  do  this,  one  of  them,  he  saw,  must  be 
abandoned  entirely,  and  his  heart  bled  for  her. 

A  villain  or  a  fool  would  have  relished  the  sit- 
uation ;  many  men  would  have  dallied  with  it ; 
but,  to  do  this  erring  man  justice,  he  writhed 
and  sorrowed  under  it,  and  sincerely  desired  to 
end  it. 

And  this  was  why  he  prized  Kate's  money  so. 
It  enabled  him  to  render  a  great  service  to  her 
he  had  injured  worse  than  he  had  the  other,  to 
her  he  saw  he  must  abandon. 

But  this  was  feeble  comfort  after  all.  He  rode 
along  a  miserable  man  ;  none  the  less  wretched 
and  remorseful  that,  ere  he  got  into  Lancashire, 
he  saw  his  way  clear.  This  was  his  resolve  :  to 
pay  old  Vint's  debts  with  Kate's  money ;  take 
the  "Packhorse,"  get  it  made  over  to  Mercy, 
give  her  the  odd  two  hundred  pounds  and  his 
jewels,  and  fly.  He  would  never  see  her  again, 
but  woidd  return  home,  and  get  the  rest  of  the 
two  thousand  pounds  from  Kate,  and  send  it  to 
Mercy  by  a  friend,  who  should  tell  her  he  was 
dead,  and  had  left  word  with  his  relations  to  send 
her  all  his  substance. 

At  last  the  "  Packhorse"  came  in  sight.  He 
drew  rein,  and  had  half  a  mind  to  turn  back ; 


but,  instead  of  that,  he  crawled  on,  and  very  sick 
and  cold  he  felt. 

Many  a  man  has  marched  to  the  scaffold  with 
a  less  quaking  heart  than  he  to  the  "  Packhorse. " 

His  dejection  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
warm  reception  he  met  from  every  body  there. 
And  the  house  was  full  of  women ;  and  they 
seemed,  somehow,  all  cock-a-hoop,  and  filled  with 
admiration  of  him. 

"  Where  is  she  ?"  said  he,  faintly. 

"  Hark  to  the  poor  soul  !"  said  a  gossip. 
u Dame  Vint,  where's  thy  daughter?  gone  out 
a-walking  belike  ?" 

At  this  the  other  women  present  chuckled  and 
clucked. 

"  I'll  bring  you  to  her,"  said  Mrs.  Vint ;  "but 
prithee  be  quiet  and  reasonable,  for,  to  be  sure, 
she  is  none  too  strong." 

There  was  some  little  preparation,  and  then 
Griffith  was  ushered  into  Mercy's  room,  and 
found  her  in  bed,  looking  a  little  pale,  but  sweet- 
er and  comelier  than  ever.  She  had  the  bed- 
clothes up  to  her  chin. 

"You  look  wan,  my  poor  lass,"  said  he; 
' '  what  ails  ye  ?" 

"Naught  ails  me  now  thou  art  come,"  said 
she,  lovingly. 

Griffith  put  the  bag  on  the  table.  "There," 
said  he, ' '  there's  five  hundred  pounds  in  gold. 
I  come  not  to  thee  empty-handed. " 

"  Nor  I  to  thee,"  said  Mercy,  with  a  heavenly 
smile.     "See!" 

And  she  drew  down  the  bedclothes  a  little, 
and  showed  the  face  of  a  babe  scarcely  three 
days  old — a  little  boy. 

She  turned  in  the  bed,  and  tried  to  hold  him 
up  to  his  father,  and  said,  "Here's  my  treasure 
for  thee !"  And  the  effort,  the  flush  on  her 
cheek,  and  the  deep  light  in  her  dove-like  eyes, 
told  plainly  that  the  poor  soul  thought  she  had 
contributed  to  their  domestic  wealth  something 
far  richer  than  Griffith  had  with  his  bag  of 
gold. 

The  father  uttered  an  ejaculation,  and  came 
to  her  side,  and,  for  a  moment,  Nature  over- 
powered every  thing  else.  He  kissed  the  child ; 
he  kissed  Mercy  again  and  again. 

"  Now  God  be  praised  for  both,"  said  he,  pas- 
sionately; "but  most  for  thee,  the  best  wife, 
the  truest  friend — "  Here,  thinking  of  her  vir- 
tues, and  the  blow  he  had  come  to  strike  her,  he 
broke  down,  and  was  almost  choked  with  emo- 
tion ;  whereupon  Mrs.  Vint  exerted  female  au- 
thority, and  bundled  him  out  of  the  room.  "Is 
that  the  way  to  carry  on  at  such  a  time  ?"  said 
she.  " 'Twas  enow  to  upset  her  altogether. 
Oh,  but  you  men  have  little  sense  in  women's 
matters.  I  looked  to  you  to  give  her  courage, 
not  to  set  her  off  into  hysterics  in  a  manner. 
Nay,  keep  up  her  heart,  or  keep  your  distance, 
say  I,  that  am  her  mother." 

Griffith  took  this  hint,  and  ever  after  took 
pity  on  Mercy's  weak  condition,  and,  suspending 
the  fatal  blow,  did  all  he  could  to  restore  her  to 
health  and  spirits. 

Of  course,  to  do  that,  he  must  deceive  her,  and 
so  his  life  became  a  lie. 

For  hitherto  she  had  never  looked  forward 
much  ;  but  now  her  eyes  were  always  diving 
into  futurity,  and  she  lay  smiling  and  discussing 
the  prospects  of  her  boy  ;  and  Griffith  had  to  sit 


100 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


by  her  side,  and  see  her  gnaw  the  boy's  hand, 
and  kiss  his  feet,  and  anticipate  his  brilliant 
career.  He  had  to  look  and  listen  with  an  ach- 
ing heart,  and  assent  with  feigned  warmth,  and 
an  inward  chill  of  horror  and  remorse. 

One  Drummond,  a  traveling  artist,  called, 
and  Mercy,  who  had  often  refused  to  sit  to  him, 
consented  now,  for,  she  said,  when  he  grows  up, 
he  shall  know  how  his  parents  looked  in  their 
youth,  the  very  year  their  darling  was  born.  So 
Griffith  had  to  sit  with  her,  and  excellent  like- 
nesses the  man  produced,  but  a  horrible  one  of 
the  child.  And  Griffith  thought,  "  Poor  soul !  a 
little  while,  and  this  picture  will  be  all  that  shall 
be  left  to  thee  of  me." 

For  all  this  time  he  was  actually  transacting 
the  preliminaries  of  separation.  He  got  a  man 
of  law  to  make  all  sure.  The  farm,  the  stock, 
the  furniture  and  good-will  of  the  "  Packhorse," 
all  these  he  got  assigned  to  Mercy  Leicester  for 
her  own  use,  in  consideration  of  three  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds,  whereof  three  hundred  were 
devoted  to  clearing  the  concern  of  its  debts,  the 
odd  fifty  was  to  sweeten  the  pill  to  Hany  Vint. 

"When  the  deed  came  to  be  executed,  Mercy 
was  surprised,  and  uttered  a  gentle  remon- 
strance. "What  have  I  to  do  with  it?"  said 
she.      "  'Tis  thy  money,  not  mine. " 

" No  matter,"  said  Griffith,  "I  choose  to  have 
it  so." 

"  Your  will  is  my  law,"  said  Mercy. 

"  Besides,"  said  Griffith,  "  the  old  folk  will 
not  feel  so  sore,  nor  be  afraid  of  being  turned 
out,  if  it  is  in  thy  name." 

"And  that  is  true,"  said  Mercy.  "Now  who 
had  thought  of  that  but  my  good  man  ?"  And 
she  threw  her  arms  lovingly  round  his  neck,  and 
gazed  on  him  adoringly. 

But  his  lion-like  eyes  avoided  her  dove-like 
eyes,  and  an  involuntary  shudder  ran  through  him. 

The  habit  of  deceiving  Mercy  led  to  a  conse- 
quence he  had  not  anticipated.  It  tightened  the 
chain  that  held  him.  She  opened  his  eyes  more 
and  more  to  her  deep  affection,  and  he  began  to 
fear  she  would  die  if  he  abandoned  her. 

And  then  her  present  situation  was  so  touch- 
ing. She  had  borne  him  a  lovely  boy :  that  must 
be  abandoned  too,  if  he  left  her ;  and  somehow 
the  birth  of  this  child  had  embellished  the  moth- 
er ;  a  delicious  pink  had  taken  the  place  of  her 
rustic  bloom,  and  her  beauty  was  more  refined 
and  delicate.  So  pure,  so  loving,  so  fair,  so  ma- 
ternal, to  wound  her  heart  now,  it  seemed  like 
stabbing  an  angel. 

One  day  succeeded  to  another,  and  still  Grif- 
fith had  not  the  heart  to  carry  out  his  resolve. 
He  temporized ;  he  wrote  to  Kate  that  he  was 
detained  by  the  business ;  and  he  staid  on  and 
on,  strengthening  his  gratitude  and  his  affection, 
and  weakening  his  love  for  the  absent  and  his  res- 
olution, till  at  last  he  became  so  distracted  and 
divided  in  heart,  and  so  demoralized,  that  he  be- 
gan to  give  up  the  idea  of  abandoning  Mercy, 
and  babbled  to  himself  about  fate  and  destiny, 
and  decided  that  the  most  merciful  course  would 
be  to  deceive  both  women.  Mercy  was  patient. 
Mercy  was  unsuspicious.  She  would  content 
herself  with  occasional  visits,  if  he  could  only 
feign  some  plausible  tale  to  account  for  long  ab- 
sences. 

Before  he  got  into  this  mess  he  was  a  singu- 
larly truthful  person,  but  now  a  lie  was  nothing 


to  him.  But,  for  that  matter,  many  a  man  has 
been  first  made  a  liar  by  his  connection  with  two 
women,  and  by  degrees  has  carried  his  mendaci- 
ty into  other  things. 

However,  though  now  blessed  with  mendacity, 
he  was  cursed  with  a  lack  of  invention,  and  sore- 
ly puzzled  how  to  live  at  Hernshaw,  yet  visit  the 
"Packhorse." 

The  best  thing  he  could  hit  upon  was  to  pre- 
tend to  turn  bagman,  and  so  Mercy  would  be- 
lieve he  was  traveling  all  over  England,  when  all 
the  time  he  was  quietly  living  at  Hernshaw. 

And  perhaps  these  long  separations  might  pre- 
pare her  heart  for  a  final  parting,  and  so  let  in 
his  original  plan  a  few  years  hence. 

He  prepared  this  manoeuvre  with  some  art. 
He  told  her,  one  day,  he  had  been  to  Lancaster, 
and  there  fallen  in  with  a  friend,  who  had  as 
good  as  promised  him  the  place  of  a  commercial 
traveler  for  a  mercantile  house. 

' '  A  traveler ! "  said  Mercy.  ' '  Heaven  forbid ! 
If  you  knew  how  I  wearied  for  you  when  you 
went  to  Cumberland!" 

"To  Cumberland!  How  know  you  I  went 
thither  ?" 

"Oh,  but  I  guessed  that ;  but  now  I  know  it, 
by  your  face.  But,  go  where  thou  wilt,  the  house 
is  dull  directly.  Thou  art  our  sunshine.  Isn't 
he,  my  poppet  ?" 

"Well,  well,  if  it  kept  me  too  long  from  thee, 
I  could  give  it  up.  But,  child,  we  must  think  of 
young  master.  You  could  manage  the  inn,  and 
your  mother  the  farm,  without  me,  and  I  should 
be  earning  money  on  my  side.  I  want  to  make 
a  gentleman  of  him." 

"Any  thing  for  him"  said  Mercy,  "any  thing 
in  the  world. "    But  the  tears  stood  in  her  eyes. 

In  furtherance  of  this  deceit,  Griffith  did  onq 
day  actually  ride  to  Lancaster,  and  slept  there. 
He  wrote  to  Kate  from  that  town  to  say  he  was 
detained  by  a  slight  illness,  but  hoped  to  be  homo 
in  a  week ;  and  the  next  day  brought  Mercy 
home  some  ribbons,  and  told  her  he  had  seen 
the  merchant  and  his  brother,  and  they  had  made 
him  a  very  fair  offer.  "But  I've  a  week  to  think 
of  it,"  said  he,  "  so  there's  no  hurry." 

Mercy  fixed  her  eyes  on  him  in  a  very  peculiar 
way,  and  made  no  reply.  You  must  know  that 
something  very  curious  had  happened  while  Grif- 
fith was  gone  to  Lancaster. 

A  traveling  peddler,  passing  by,  was  struck 
with  the  name  on  the  sign -board.  "Hallo!" 
said  he,  "why  here's  a  namesake  of  mine;  I'll 
have  a  glass  of  his  ale,  any  way." 

So  he  came  into  the  public  room,  and  called 
for  a  glass,  taking  care  to  open  his  pack  and  dis- 
play his  inviting  wares.  Harry  Vint  served  him. 
"  Here's  your  health,"  said  the  peddler.  "  Yoi\ 
must  drink  with  me,  you  must." 

"And  welcome,"  said  the  old  man. 

"Well,"  said  the  peddler,  "I  do  travel  five 
counties,  but,  for  all  that,  you  are  the  first  name- 
sake I  have  found.  I  am  Thomas  Leicester  too, 
as  sure  as  you  are  a  living  sinner." 

The  old  man  laughed  and  said,  "Then 'no 
namesake  of  mine  are  you,  for  they  call  me 
Harry  Vint.  Thomas  Leicester,  he  that  keeps 
this  inn  now,  is  my  son-in-law :  he  is  gone  to 
Lancaster  this  morning." 

The  peddler  said  that  was  a  pity ;  he  should 
have  liked  to  see  his  namesake,  and  drink  a  glass 
with  him. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


101 


"Come  again  to-morrow,"  said  Harry  Vint, 
ironically.  "-Dame,"  he  cried,  "come  hither. 
Here's  another  Thomas  Leicester  for  ye,  wants 
to  see  our  one. " 

Mrs.  Vint  turned  her  head  and  inspected  the 
peddler  from  afar,  as  if  he  was  some  natural  cu- 
riosity. 

"Where  do  you  come  from,  young  man?" 
said  she. 

"Well,  I  came  from  Kendal  last,  but  I  am 
Cumberland  bom. " 

"Why,  that  is  where  t'other  comes  from," 
suggested  Paul  Carrick,  who  was  once  more  a 
frequenter  of  the  house. 

' '  Like  enow, "  said  Mrs.  Vint. 

With  that  she  dropped  the  matter  as  one  of  no 
consequence,  and  retired.  But  she  went  straight 
to  Mercy,  in  the  parlor,  and  told  her  there  was 
a  man  in  the  kitchen  that  called  himself  Thomas 
Leicester. 

"Well,  mother?"  said  Mercy,  with  high  in- 
difference, for  she  was  trying  new  socks  on  King 
Baby. 

"  He  comes  from  Cumberland." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure,  names  do  run  in  counties." 

"That  is  true;  but,  seems  to  me,  he  favors 
your  man :  much  of  a  height,  and —  There,  do 
just  step  into  the  kitchen  a  moment. " 

"La!  mother,"  said  Mercy,  "I  don't  desire 
to  see  any  more  Thomas  Leicesters  than  my 
own :  'tis  the  man,  not  the  name.  Isn't  it,  my 
lamb  ?" 

Mrs.  Vint  went  back  to  the  kitchen  discom- 
fited; but,  with  quiet  pertinacity,  she  brought 
Thomas  Leicester  into  the  parlor,  pack  and  all. 

"There,  Mercy,"  said  she,  "lay  out  a  penny 
with  thy  husband's  namesake." 

Mercy  did  not  reply,  for  at  that  moment 
Thomas  Leicester  caught  sight  of  Griffith's  por- 
trait, and  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  a  most  extra- 
ordinary look  besides. 

Both  the  women's  eyes  happened  to  be  upon 
him,  and  they  saw  at  once  that  he  knew  the 
original. 

"  You  know  my  husband?"  said  Mercy  Vint, 
after  a  while. 

"  Not  I,"  said  Leicester,  looking  askant  at  the 
picture. 

"Don't  tell  no  lies,"  said  Mrs. Vint.  "You 
do  know  him  well."  And  she  pointed  her  as- 
sertion by  looking  at  the  portrait. 

"  Oh,  I  know  him  whose  picture  hangs  there, 
of  course,"  said  Leicester. 

"Well,  and  that  is  her  husband." 

"Oh,  that  is  her  husband,  is  it?"  And  he 
was  unaffectedly  puzzled. 

Mercy  turned  pale.  "Yes,  he  is  my  hus- 
band," said  she,  "and  this  is  our  child.  Can 
you  tell  me  any  thing  about  him  ?  for  he  came  a 
stranger  to  these  parts.  Belike  you  are  a  kins- 
man of  his  ?" 

"So  they  say." 

This  reply  puzzled  both  women. 

"Any  way,"  said  the  peddler,  "you  see  we 
are  marked  alike."  And  he  showed  a  long 
black  mole  on  his  forehead.  Mercy  was  now  as 
curious  as  she  had  been  indifferent.  "  Tell  me 
all  about  him,"  said  she  :  "  how  comes  it  that  he 
is  a  gentleman  and  thou  a  peddler  ?" 

"  Well,  because  myr  mother  was  a  gipsy,  and 
his  a  gentlewoman." 

"What  brought  him  to  these  parts?" 


'Trouble,  they  say." 
;' What  trouble?" 


"Nay,  I  know  not."  This  after  a  slight  but 
visible  hesitation. 

"  But  you  have  heard  say." 

"Well,  I  am  always  on  the  foot,  and  don't 
bide  long  enough  in  one  place  to  learn  all  the 
gossip.  But  I  do  remember  hearing  he  was 
gone  to  sea ;  and  that  was  a  lie,  for  he  had  set- 
tled here,  and  married  you.  I'fackins,  he  might 
have  done  worse.  He  has  got  a  bonny,  buxom 
wife,  and  a  rare  fine  boy,  to  be  sure." 

And  now  the  peddler  was  on  his  guard,  and 
determined  he  would  not  be  the  one  to  break  up 
the  household  he  saw  before  him,  and  afflict  the 
dove-eyed  wife  and  mother.  He  was  a  good- 
natured  fellow,  and  averse  to  make  mischief  with 
his  own  hands.  Besides,  he  took  for  granted 
Griffith  loved  his  new  wife  better  than  the  old 
one ;  and,  above  all,  the  punishment  of  bigamy 
was  severe,  and  was  it  for  him  to  get  the  squire 
indicted,  and  branded  in  the  hand  for  a  felon  ? 

So  the  women  could  get  nothing  more  out  of 
him ;  he  lied,  evaded,  shuffled,  and  feigned  utter 
ignorance,  pleading,  adroitly  enough,  his  vagrant 
life. 

All  this,  however,  aroused  vague  suspicions  in 
Mrs.Vint's  mind,  and  she  went  and  whispered 
them  to  her  favorite,  Paul  Carrick.  "And, 
Paul,"  said  she,  "call  for  what  you  like,  and 
score  it  to  me,  only  treat  this  peddler  till  he 
leaks  out  summut :  to  be  sure  he'll  tell  a  man 
more  than  he  will  us. " 

Paul  entered  with  zeal  into  this  commission  ; 
treated  the  peddler  to  a  chop,  and  plied  him 
well  with  the  best  ale. 

All  this  failed  to  loose  the  peddler's  tongue  at 
the  time,  but  it  muddled  his  judgment :  on  re- 
suming his  journey,  he  gave  his  entertainer  a 
wink.     Carrick  rose  and  followed  him  out. 

"You  seem  a  decent  lad,"  said  the  peddler, 
"and  a  good-hearted  one.  Wilt  do  me  a  fa- 
vor?" 

Carrick  said  he  would,  if  it  lay  in  his  power. 

"Oh,  it  is  easy  enow,"  said  the  peddler. 
"  'Tis  just  to  give  Thomas  Leicester,  into  his 
own  hand,  this  here  trifle  as  soon  as  ever  he 
comes  home. "  And  he  handed  Carrick  a  hard 
substance  wrapped  in  paper.     Carrick  promised. 

"Ay,  ay,  lad,"  said  the  peddler,  "but  see  you 
play  fair,  and  give  it  him  unbeknown.  Now 
don't  you  be  so  simple  as  show  it  to  any  of  the 
women-folk.     D'ye  understand  ?" 

"All  right,"  said  Carrick,  knowingly.  And 
so  the  boon  companions  for  a  day  shook  hands 
and  parted. 

And  Carrick  took  the  little  parcel  straight  to 
Mrs.  Vint,  and  told  her  every  word  the  peddler 
had  said. 

And  Mrs.  Vint  took  the  little  parcel  straight  to 
Mercy,  and  told  her  what  Carrick  said  the  ped- 
dler had  said. 

And  the  peddler  went  off  flushed  with  beer 
and  self-complacency  ;  for  he  thought  he  had 
drawn  the  line  precisely;  had  faithfully  dis- 
charged his  promise  to  his  lady  and  benefac- 
tress, but  not  so  as  to  make  mischief  in  another 
household. 

Such  was  the  power  of  Ale — in  the  last  cen- 
tury. 

Mercy  undid  the  paper  and  found  the  bullet, 
on  which  was  engraved 


102 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  j  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"I  LOVE  KATE." 


As  she  read  these  words  a  knife  seemed  to  en- 
ter her  heart,  the  pang  was  so  keen. 

But  she  soon  took  herself  to  task.  "Thou 
naughty  woman,"  said  she.  "What!  jealous 
of  the  dead  ?" 

She  wrapped  the  bullet  up,  put  it  carefully 
away,  had  a  good  cry,  and  was  herself  again. 

But  all  this  set  her  watching  Griffith  and  read- 
ing his  face.  She  had  subtle,  vague  misgivings, 
and  forbade  her  mother  to  mention  the  peddler's 
visit  to  Griffith  yet  a  while.  Woman-like,  she 
preferred  to  worm  out  the  truth. 

On  the  evening  of  his  return  from  Lancaster, 
as  he  was  smoking  his  pipe,  she  quietly  tested 
him.  She  fixed  her  eyes  on  him,  and  said, 
"One  was  here  to-day  that  knows  thee,  and 
brought  thee  this."  She  then  handed  him  the 
bullet,  and  watched  his  face. 

Griffith  undid  the  paper  carelessly  enough ; 
but,  at  sight  of  the  bullet,  uttered  a  loud  cry, 
and  his  eyes  seemed  ready  to  start  out  of  his 
head. 

He  turned  as  pale  as  ashes,  and  stammered, 
piteously,  "  What — what — what  d'ye  mean  ?  In 
Heaven's  name,  what  is  this  ?     How  ?     Who  ?" 

Mercy  was  surprised,  but  also  much  concern- 
ed at  his  distress,  and  tried  to  soothe  him.  She 
also  asked  him,  piteously,  whether  she  had  done 
wrong  to  give  it  him.  "  God  knows,"  said  she, 
"  'tis  no  business  of  mine  to  go  and  remind  thee 
of  her  thou  hast  loved  better  mayhap  than  thou 
lovest  me.  But  to  keep  it  from  thee,  and  she 
in  her  grave,  oh,  I  had  not  the  heart !" 

But  Griffith's  agitation  increased  instead  of 
diminishing ;  and,  even  while  she  was  trying  to 
soothe  him,  he  rushed  wildly  out  of  the  room 
and  into  the  open  air. 

Mercy  went,  in  perplexity  and  distress,  and 
told  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Vint,  not  being  blinded  by  affection, 
thought  the  whole  thing  had  a  very  ugly  look, 
and  said  as  much.  She  gave  it  as  her  opinion 
that  this  Kate  was  alive,  and  had  sent  the  token 
herself,  to  make  mischief  between  man  and  wife. 

"That  shall  she  never,"  said  Mercy,  stoutly; 
but  now  her  suspicions  were  thoroughly  excited, 
and  her  happiness  disturbed. 

The  next  day  Griffith  found  her  in  tears :  he 
asked  her  what  was  the  matter.  She  would  not 
tell  him. 

"You  have  your  secrets,"  said  she,  "and  so 
now  I  have  mine. " 

Griffith  became  very  uneasy.  For  now  Mercy 
was  often  in  tears,  and  Mrs.  Vint  looked  daggers 
at  him. 

All  this  was  mysterious  and  unintelligible, 
and,  to  a  guilty  man,  very  alarming. 

At  last  he  implored  Mercy  to  speak  out.  He 
wanted  to  know  the  worst. 

Then  Mercy  did  speak  out.  ' '  You  have  de- 
ceived me,"  said  she.  "Kate  is  alive.  This 
very  morning,  between  sleeping  and  waking, 
you  whispered  her  name ;  ay,  false  man,  whis- 
pered it  like  a  lover.  You  told  me  she  was 
dead.  But  she  is  alive,  and  has  sent  you  a  re- 
minder, and  the  bare  sight  of  it  hath  turned 
your  heart  her  way  again.  What  shall  I  do? 
Why  did  you  marry  me,  if  you  could  not  forget 
her  ?     I  did  not  want  you  to  desert  any  woman 


for  me.  The  desire  of  my  heart  was  always 
for  your  happiness.  But  oh,  Thomas,  deceit 
and  falsehood  will  not  bring  you  happiness,  no 
more  than  they  will  me.  What  shall  I  do? 
what  shall  I  do?" 

Her  tears  flowed  freely,  and  Griffith  sat  dow"h, 
and  groaned  with  horror  and  remorse,  beside 
her. 

He  had  not  the  courage  to  tell  her  the  horrible 
truth,  that  Kate  was  his  wife,  and  she  was  not. 

"l)o  not  thou  afflict  thyself,"  he  muttered. 
"  Of  course,  with  you  putting  that  bullet  in  my 
hand  so  sudden,  it  set  my  fancy  a  wandering  back 
to  other  days." 

"Ah!"  said  Mercy,  "if  it  be  no  worse  than 
that,  there's  little  harm.  But  why  did  thy  name- 
sake start  so  at  sight  of  thy  picture  ?" 

"My  namesake !"  cried  Griffith,  all  aghast. 

"Ay,  he  that  brought  thee  that  love-token — 
Thomas  Leicester.  Nay,  for  very  shame,  feign 
not  ignorance  of  him ;  why,  he  hath  thy  very 
mole  on  his  temple,  and  knew  thy  picture  in  a 
moment.     He  is  thy  half-brother,  is  he  not  ?" 

"I  am  a  ruined  man,"  cried  Griffith;  and 
sank  into  a  chair  without  power  of  motion. 

"  God  help  me,  what  is  all  this  ?"  cried  Mercy. 
"  Oh,  Thomas,  Thomas,  I  could  forgive  thee 
aught  but  deceit ;  for  both  our  sakes,  speak  out, 
and  tell  me  the  worst ;  no  harm  shall  come  near 
thee  while  I  live. " 

" How  can  I  tell  thee?  I  am  an  unfortunate 
man.  The  world  will  call  me  a  villain ;  yet  I 
am  not  a  villain  at  heart.  But  who  will  believe 
me  ?  I  have  broken  the  law.  Thee  I  could 
trust,  but  not  thy  folk ;  they  never  loved  me. 
Mercy,  for  pity's  sake,  when  was  that  Thomas 
Leicester  here  ?" 

"Four  days  ago." 

"  Which  way  went  he  ?" 

"I  hear  he  told  Paul  he  was  going  to  Cum- 
berland." 

"  If  he  gets  there  before  me,  I  shall  rot  in  jail." 

"Now  Heaven  forbid!  Oh,  Thomas,  then 
mount  and  ride  after  him." 

"I  will,  and  this  very  moment." 

He  saddled  Black  Dick,  and  loaded  his  pistols 
for  the  journey ;  but,  ere  he  went,  a  pale  face 
looked  out  into  the  yard,  and  a  finger  beckoned. 
It  was  Mercy.  She  bade  him  follow  her.  She 
took  him  to  her  room,  where  their  child  was 
sleeping ;  and  then  she  closed,  and  even  locked 
the  door. 

"No  soul  can  hear  us,"  said  she  ;  "now,  look 
me  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  God's  truth.  Who 
and  what  are  you?" 

Griffith  shuddered  at  this  exordium  ;  he  made 
no  reply. 

Mercy  went  to  a  box,  and  took  out  an  old 
shirt  of  his — the  one  he  wore  when  he  first  came 
to  the  "  Packhorse."  She  brought  it  to  him  and 
showed  him  "  G.  G."  embroidered  on  it  with  a 
woman's  hair  (Ryder's). 

' '  Here  are  your  initials, "  said  she  ;  ' '  now  leave 
useless  falsehoods ;  be  a  man,  and  tell  me  your 
real  name." 

"My  name  is  Griffith  Gaunt." 

Mercy,  sick  at  heart,  turned  her  head  away  ; 
but  she  had  the  resolution  to  urge  him  on.  "  Go 
on,"  said  she,  in  an  agonized  whisper:  "if  you 
believe  in  God,  and  a  judgment  to  come,  deceive 
me  no  more.     The  truth !  I  say ;  the  truth  !" 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Griffith,  desperately :  "when 


GKIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


103 


I  have  told  thee  what  a  villain  I  am,  I  can  die  at 
thy  feet,  and  then  thou  wilt  forgive  me. " 

"  Who  is  Kate?"  was  all  she  replied. 

"  Kate  is — my  wife." 

"I  thought  her  false;  who  could  think  any 
other,  appearances  were  so  strong  against  her? 
others  thought  so  heside  me.  I  raised  my  hand 
to  kill  her,  but  she  never  winced.  I  trampled 
on  him  I  believed  her  paramour ;  I  fled,  and  soon 
I  lay  a  dying  in  this  house  for  her  sake.  I  told 
thee  she  was  dead.  Alas !  I  thought  her  dead  to 
me.  I  went  back  to  our  house  (it  is  her  house), 
sore  against  the  grain,  to  get  money  for  thee  and 
thine.  Then  she  cleared  herself,  bright  as  the 
sun,  and  pure  as  snow.  She  was  all  in  black  for 
me;  she  had  put  by  money  against  I  should 
come  to  my  senses  and  need  it.  I  told  her  I 
owed  a  debt  in  Lancashire — a  debt  of  gratitude 
as  well  as  money ;  and  so  I  did.  How  have  I 
repaid  it  ?  The  poor  soul  forced  five  hundred 
pounds  on  me.  I  had  much  ado  to  keep  her 
from  bringing  it  hither  with  her  own  hands — 
oh,  villain !  villain !  Then  I  thought  to  leave 
thee,  and  send  thee  word  I  was  dead,  and  heap 
money  on  thee.  Money  !  But  how  could  I  ? 
Thou  wast  my  benefactress,  my  more  than  wife. 
All  the  riches  of  the  world  can  make  no  return 
to  thee.  What — what  shall  I  do  ?  Shall  I  fly 
with  thee  and  thy  child  across  the  seas  ?  Shall 
I  go  back  to  her  ?  No,  the  best  thing  I  can  do 
is  to  take  this  good  pistol,  and  let  the  life  out  of 
my  dishonorable  carcass,  and  free  two  honest 
women  from  me  by  one  resolute  act. " 

In  his  despair  he  cocked  the  pistol,  and,  at  a 
word  from  Mercy,  this  tale  had  ended. 

But  the  poor  woman,  pale  and  trembling,  tot- 
tered across  the  room  and  took  it  out  of  his  hand. 
11 1  would  not  harm  thy  body  nor  thy  soul,"  she 
gasped.    '  "  Let  me  draw  my  breath,  and  think." 

She  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  in  silence. 

Griffith  stood  trembling  like  a  criminal  before 
his  judge. 

It  was  long  ere  she  could  speak,  for  anguish. 
Yet  when  she  did  speak  it  was  with  a  sort  of 
deadly  calm. 

"  Go  tell  the  truth  to  her,  as  you  have  done  to 
me ;  and,  if  she  can  forgive  you,  all  the  better 
for  you.  I  can  never  forgive  you,  nor  yet  can 
harm  you.  My  child,  my  child !  Thy  father  is 
our  ruin.  Oh  begone,  man,  or  the  sight  of  you 
will  kill  us  both." 

At  that  he  fell  at  her  knees  ;  kissed,  and  wept 
over  her  cold  hand,  and,  in  his  pity  and  despair, 
offered  to  cross  the  seas  with  her  and  her  child, 
and  so  repair  the  wrong  he  had  done  her.    - 

"Tempt  me  not,"  she  sobbed.  "Go;  leave 
me.  None  here  shall  ever  know  thy  crime  but 
she  whose  heart  thou1  hast  broken,  and  ruined 
her  good  name." 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  in  spite  of  her  resist- 
ance, and  kissed  her  passionately ;  but,  for  the 
first  time,  she  shuddered  at  his  embrace,  and  that 
gave  him  the  power  to  leave  her. 

He  rushed  from  her  all  but  distracted,  and 
rode  away  to  Cumberland,  but  not  to  tell  the 
truth  to  Kate  if  he  coidd  possibly  help  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

At  this  particular  time,  no  man's  presence 


was  more  desired  in  that  county  than  Griffith 
Gaunt's. 

And  this  I  need  not  now  be  telling  the  reader, 
if  I  had  related  this  stoiy  on  the  plan  of  a  mis- 
cellaneous chronicle.  But  the  affairs  of  the 
heart  are  so  absorbing,  that,  even  in  a  narrative, 
they  thrust  aside  important  circumstances  of  a 
less  moving  kind. 

I  must  therefore  go  back  a  step  before  I  ad- 
vance farther.  You  must  know  that  forty  years 
before  our  Griffith  Gaunt  saw  the  light,  another 
Griffith  Gaunt  was  born  in  Cumberland — a 
younger  son,  and  the  family  estate  entailed ;  but 
a  shrewd  lad,  who  chose  rather  to  hunt  fortune 
elsewhere  than  to  live  in  miserable  dependence 
on  his  elder  brother.  His  godfather,  a  city 
merchant,  encouraged  him,  and  he  left  Cumber- 
land. He  went  into  commerce,  and  in  twenty 
years  became  a  wealthy  man — so  wealthy  that  he 
lived  to  look  down  on  his  brother's  estate,  which 
he  had  once  thought  opulence.  His  life  was  all 
prosperity,  with  a  single  exception,  but  that  a 
bitter  one.  He  laid  out  some  of  his  funds  in  a 
fashionable  and  beautiful  wife.  He  loved  her 
before  marriage ;  and,  as  she  was  always  cold  to 
him,  he  loved  her  more  and  more. 

In  the  second  year  of  their  marriage  she  ran 
away  from  him,  and  no  beggar  in  the  streets  of 
London  was  so  miserable  as  the  wealthy  mer- 
chant. 

It  blighted  the  man,  and  left  him  a  sore  heart 
all  his  days.  He  never  married  again,  and  railed 
on  all  womankind  for  this  one.  He  led  a  solitary 
life  in  London  till  he  was  sixty-nine,  and  then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  Nature,  or  accident,  or  both, 
changed  his  whole  habits.  Word  came  to  him 
that  the  family  estate,  already  deeply  mortgaged, 
was  for  sale,  and  a  farmer  who  had  rented  a 
principal  farm  on  it,  and  held  a  heavy  mortgage, 
had  made  the  highest  offer. 

Old  Griffith  sent  down  Mr.  Atkins,  his  solicitor, 
post  haste,  and  snapped  the  estate  out  of  that 
purchaser's  hands. 

When  the  lands  and  house  had  been  duly 
conveyed  to  him,  he  came  down,  and  his  heart 
seemed  to  bud  again  in  the  scenes  of  his  child- 
hood. 

Finding  the  house  small,  and  built  in  a  valley 
instead  of  on  rising  ground,  he  got  an  army  of 
bricklayers,  and  began  to  build  a  mansion  with 
a  rapidity  unheard  of  in  those  parts ;  and  he 
looked  about  for  some  one  to  inherit  it. 

The  name  of  Gaunt  had  dwindled  down  to 
three  since  he  left  Cumberland ;  but  a  rich  man 
never  lacks  relations.  Featherstonhaughs,  and 
Underbills,  and  even  Smiths,  poured  in,  with 
parish  registers  in  their  laps,  and  proved  them- 
selves Gauntesses,  and  flattered  and  carneyed 
the  new  head  of  the  family. 

Then  the  perverse  old  gentleman  felt  inclined 
to  look  elsewhere.  He  knew  he  had  a  name- 
sake at  the  other  side  of  the  county,  but  this 
namesake  did  not  come  near  him. 

This  independent  Gaunt  excited  his  curiosity 
and  interest.  He  made  inquiries,  and  heard  that 
young  Griffith  had  just  quarreled  with  his  wife, 
and  gone  away  in  despair. 

Griffith  senior  took  for  granted  that  the  fault 
lay  with  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  wasted  some  good 
sympathy  on  Griffith  junior. 

On  farther  inquiry,  he  learned  that  the  truant 
was  dependent  on  his  wife.     Then,  argued  the 


104 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


moneyed  man,  he  would  not  run  away  from  her 
but  that  his  wound  was  deep. 

The  consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  he  made 
a  will  very  favorable  to  his  absent  and  injured  (?) 
namesake.  He  left  numerous  bequests,  and 
made  Griffith  his  residuary  legatee;  and,  having 
settled  this  matter,  urged  on  and  superintended 
his  workmen. 

Alas !  just  as  the  roof  was  going  on,  a  narrower 
house  claimed  him,  and  he  made  good  the  saying 
of  the  wise  bard — 

"  Tu  secanda  marmora 
Locas  sub  ipsum  i'unus  et  sepulchri 
Immemor  struis  domos." 

The  heir  of  his  own  choosing  could  not  be 
found  to  attend  his  funeral ;  and  Mr.  Atkins,  his 
solicitor,  a  very  worthy  man,  was  really  hurt  at 
this.  With  the  quiet  bitterness  of  a  displeased 
attorney,  he  merely  sent  Mrs.  Gaunt  word  her 
husband  inherited  something  under  the  will,  and 
she  would  do  well  to  produce  him,  or  else  furnish 
him  (Atkins)  with  proof  of  his  decease. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  offended  by  this  cavalier  note, 
and  replied  very  like  a  woman,  and  very  unlike 
business. 

"  I  do  not  know  where  he  is,"  said  she,  "  nor 
whether  he  is  alive  or  dead.  Nor  do  I  feel  dis- 
posed to  raise  the  hue  and  cry  after  him.  But 
favor  me  with  your  address,  and  I  shall  let  you 
know  should  I  hear  any  thing  about  him." 

Mr.  Atkins  was  half  annoyed,  half  amused  at 
this  piece  of  indifference.  It  never  occurred  to 
him  that  it  might  be  all  put  on. 

He  wrote  back  to  say  that  the  estate  was  large, 
and,  owing  to  the  terms  of  the  will,  could  not  be 
administered  without  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt ;  and, 
in  the  interest  of  the  said  Griffith  Gaunt,  and  also 
of  the  other  legatees,  he  really  must  advertise  for 
him. 

La  Gaunt  replied  that  he  was  very  welcome  to 
advertise  for  whomsoever  he  pleased. 

Mr.  Atkins  was  a  very  worthy  man,  but 
human.  To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  himself  one 
of  the  other  legatees.  He  inherited  (and,  to  be 
just,  had  well  deserved)  four  thousand  guineas 
under  the  will,  and  could  not  legally  touch  it 
without  Griffith  Gaunt.  This  little  circum- 
stance spurred  his  professional  zeal. 

Mr.  Atkins  advertised  for  Griffith  Gaunt  in 
the  London  and  Cumberland  papers,  and  in  the 
usual  enticing  form.  He  was  to  apply  to  Mr. 
Atkins,  Solicitor,  of  Gray's  Inn,  and  he  would 
hear  of  something  greatly  to  his  advantage. 

These  advertisements  had  not  been  out  a 
fortnight  when  Griffith  came  home,  as  I  have 
related. 

But  Mr.  Atkins  had  punished  Mrs.  Gaunt  for 
her  insouciance  by  not  informing  her  of  the 
extent  of  her  good  fortune ;  so  she  merely  told 
Griffith,  casually,  that  old  Griffith  Gaunt  had  left 
him  some  money,  and  the  solicitor,  Mr.  Atkins, 
could  not  get  on  without  him.  Even  this  infor- 
mation she  did  not  vouchsafe  until  she  had  given 
him  her  £500,  for  she  grudged  Atkins  the  pleas- 
ure of  supplying  her  husband  with  money. 

However,  as  soon  as  Griffith  left  her,  she 
wrote  to  Mr.  Atkins  to  say  that  her  husband  had 
come  home  in  perfect  health,  thank  God ;  had 
only  staid  two  days,  but  was  to  return  in  a  week. 

When  ten  days  had  elapsed  Atkins  wrote  to 
inquire. 

She  replied  he  had  not  yet  returned  ;  and  this 


went  on  till  Mr.  Atkins  showed  considerable  im- 
patience. 

As  for  Mrs.  Gaunt,  she  made  light  of  the 
matter  to  Mr.  Atkins,  but,  in  truth,  this  new 
mystery  irritated  her  and  pained  her  deeply. 

In  one  respect  she  was  more  unhappy  than  she 
had  been  before  he  came  back  at  all.  Then  she 
was  alone;  her  door  was  closed  to  commentators. 
But  now,  on  the  strength  of  so  happy  a  reconcil- 
iation, she  had  re-entered  the  world,  and  received 
visits  from  Sir  George  Neville  and  others ;  and, 
above  all,  had  announced  that  Griffith  would  be 
back  for  good  in  a  few  days.  So  now  his  con- 
tinued absence  exposed  her  to  sly  questions  from 
her  own  sex,  to  the  interchange  of  glances  be- 
tween female  visitors,  as  well  as  to  the  internal 
torture  of  doubt  and  suspense. 

But  what  distracted  her  most  was  the  view 
Mrs.  Ryder  took  of  the  matter. 

That  experienced  lady  had  begun  to  suspect 
some  other  woman  was  at  the  bottom  of  Grif- 
fith's conduct,  and  her  own  love  for  Griffith  was 
now  soured ;  repeated  disappointments  and  af- 
fronts, spreta;que  injuria  forma;,  had  not  quite 
extinguished  it,  but  had  mixed  so  much  spite 
with  it  that  she  was  equally  ready  to  kiss  or  to 
stab  him. 

So  she  took  every  opportunity  to  instill  into 
her  mistress,  whose  confidence  she  had  won  at 
last,  that  Griffith  was  false  to  her. 

"  That  is  the  way  with  these  men  that  are  so 
ready  to  suspect  others.  Take  my  word  for  it, 
dame,  he  has  carried  your  money  to  his  leman. 
'Tis  still  the  honest  woman  that  must  bleed  for 
some  nasty  trollop  or  other." 

She  enforced  this  theory  by  examples  drawn 
from  her  own  observations  in  families,  and  gave 
the  very  names,  and  drove  Mrs.  Gaunt  almost 
mad  with  fear,  anger,  jealousy,  and  cruel  sus- 
pense. She  could  not  sleep,  she  coidd  not  eat ; 
she  was  in  a  constant  fever. 

Yet  before  the  world  she  battled  it  out  bravely, 
and  indeed  none  but  Ryder  knew  the  anguish  of 
her  spirit,  and  her  passionate  wrath. 

At  last  there  came  a  most  eventful  day. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  had  summoned  all  her  pride  and 
fortitude,  and  invited  certain  ladies  and  gentle- 
men to  dine  and  sup. 

She  was  one  of  the  true  Spartan  breed,  and 
played  the  hostess  as  well  as  if  her  heart  had 
been  at  ease.  It  was  an  age  in  which  the  host 
struggled  fiercely  to  entertain  the  guests ;  and 
Mrs.  Gaunt  was  taxing  all  her  powers  of  pleasing 
in  the  dining-room,  when  an  unexpected  guest 
strolled  into  the  kitchen — the  peddler,  Thomas 
Leicester. 

Jane  welcomed  him  cordially,  and  he  was 
soon  seated  at  a  table  eating  his  share  of  the 
feast. 

Presently  Mrs.  Ryder  came  down,  dressed  in 
her  best,  and  looking  handsomer  than  ever. 

At  sight  of  her,  Tom  Leicester's  affection  re- 
vived ;  and  he  soon  took  occasion  to  whisper  an 
inquiry  whether  she  was  still  single. 

"  Ay,"  said  she,  "and  like  to  be." 

"Waiting  for  the  master  still?  Mayhap  I 
could  cure  you  of  that  complaint.  But  least  said 
is  soonest  mended. " 

This  mysterious  hint  showed  Ryder  he  had  a 
secret  burning  his  bosom.  The  sly  hussy  said 
nothing  just  then,  but  plied  him  with  ale  and 
flattery,  and,  when  he  whispered  a  request  for  a 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


105 


private  meeting  out  of  doors,  she  cast  her  eyes 
down  and  assented. 

And  in  that  meeting  she  carried  herself  so 
adroitly  that  he  renewed  his  offer  of  marriage, 
and  told  her  not  to  waste  her  fancy  on  a  man 
who  cared  neither  for  her  nor  any  other  she  in 
Cumberland. 

"Prove  that  to  me,"  said  Ryder,  cunningly, 
"and  maybe  I'll  take  you  at  your  word." 

The  bribe  was  not  to  be  resisted.  Tom  re- 
vealed to  her,  under  a  solemn  promise  of  secre- 
cy, that  the  squire  had  got  a  wife  and  child  in 
Lancashire,  and  had  a  farm  and  an  inn,  which 
latter  he  kept,  under  the  name  of—Thomas  Lei- 
cester. 

In  short,  he  told  her,  in  his  way,  all  the  partic- 
ulars I  have  told  in  mine. 

She  led  him  on  with  a  voice  of  very  velvet. 
He  did  not  see  how  her  cheek  paled  and  her 
eyes  flashed  jealous  fury. 

When  she  had  sucked  him  dry,  she  suddenly 
turned  on  him  with  a  cold  voice,  and  said,  • '  I 
can't  stay  any  longer  with  you  just  now.  She 
will  want  me." 

"You  will  meet  me  here  again,  lass?"  said 
Tom,  ruefully. 

' '  Yes,  for  a  minute,  after  supper. " 

She  then  left  him  and  went  to  Mrs.  Gaunt's 
room,  and  sat  crouching  before  the  fire,  all  hate 
and  bitterness. 

What  ?  he  had  left  the  wife  he  loved,  and  yet 
had  not  turned  to  her ! 

She  sat  there,  Avaiting  for  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and 
nursing  her  vindictive  fury,  two  mortal  hours. 

At  last,  just  before  supper,  Mrs.  Gaunt  came 
up  to  her  room  to  cool  her  fevered  hands  and 
brow,  and  found  this  creature  crouched  by  her 
fire,  all  in  a  heap,  with  pale  cheek,  and  black 
eyes  that  glittered  like  basilisk's. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  child?"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
M  Good  heavens !  what  hath  happened  ?" 

"Dame!"  said  Ryder,  sternly,  "I  have  got 
news  of  him. " 

' '  News  of  him  ?"  faltered  Mrs.  Gaunt.  "  Bad 
news  ?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  to  tell  you  or  not," 
said  Ryder,  sulkily,  but  with  a  touch  of  human 
feeling. 

"What  can  not  I  bear?  What  have  I  not 
borne  ?     Tell  me  the  truth. " 

The  words  were  stout,  but  she  trembled  all 
over  in  uttering  them. 

"Well,  it  is  as  I  said,  only  Avorse.  Dame,  he 
has  got  a  wife  and  child  in  another  county,  and 
no  doubt  been  deceiving  her,  as  he  has  us. " 

"A  Avife !"  gasped  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  one  Avhite 
hand  clutched  her  bosom,  and  the  other  the  man- 
tel-piece. 

"  Ay,  Thomas  Leicester,  that  is  in  the  kitchen 
noAV,  saAv  her,  and  saAv  his  picture  hanging  aside 
hers  on  the  Avail.  And  he  goes  by  the  name  of 
Thomas  Leicester :  that  was  what  made  Tom  go 
into  the  inn,  seeing  his  own  name  on  the  sign- 
board. Nay,  dame,  never  give  Avay  like  that ; 
lean  on  me — so.  He  is  a  villain,  a  false,  jealous, 
double-faced  A'illain." 

Mrs.  Gaunt's  head  fell  on  Ryder's  shoulder, 
and  she  said  no  Avord,  but  only  moaned  and 
moaned,  and  her  Avhite  teeth  clicked  convulsive- 
ly together. 

Ryder  wept  OA-er  her  sad  state  :  the  tears  Avere 
half  impulse,  half  crocodile. 


She  applied  hartshorn  to  the  sufferer's  nos- 
trils, and  tried  to  rouse  her  mind  by  exciting  her 
anger.  But  all  Avas  in  A^ain.  There  hung  the 
betrayed  wife,  pale,  crushed,  and  quivering  under 
the  cruel  bloAv. 

Ryder  asked  her  if  she  should  go  down  and 
excuse  her  to  her  guests. 

She  nodded  a  feeble  assent. 

Ryder  then  laid  her  doAvn  on  the  bed  Avith  her 
head  Ioav,  and  Avas  just  about  to  leave  her  on  that 
errand,  Avhen  hurried  steps  Avere  heard  outside 
the  door,  and  one  of  the  female  servants  knocked, 
and,  not  waiting  to  be  invited,  put  her  head  in, 
and  cried,  "Oh,  dame,  the  master  is  come  home. 
He  is  in  the  kitchen." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Mrs.  Ryder  made  an  agitated  motion  with 
her  hand,  and  gave  the  girl  such  a  look  withal 
that  she  retired  precipitately. 

But  Mrs.  Gaunt  had  caught  the  Avords,  and 
they  literally  transformed  her.  She  sprang  off 
the  bed  and  stood  erect,  and  looked  a  Saxon  Py- 
thoness— golden  hair  streaming  down  her  back, 
and  gray  eyes  gleaming  Avith  fury. 

She  caught  up  a  little  ivory-handled  knife  and 
held  it  above  her  head. 

"I'll  driAre  this  into  his  heart  before  them  all," 
she  cried,  "  and  tell  them  the  reason  afterward!" 

Ryder  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  in  utter  ter- 
ror. She  saAv  a  woman  Avith  grander  passions 
than  herself— a  Avoman  that  looked  quite  capable 
of  executing  her  sanguinary  threat.  Ryder  made 
no  more  ado,  but  slipped  out  directly  to  prevent 
a  meeting  that  might  be  attended  with  such  ter- 
rible consequences. 

She  found  her  master  in  the  kitchen,  splashed 
Avith  mud,  drinking  a  horn  of  ale  after  his  ride, 
and  looking  rather  troubled  and  anxious ;  and, 
by  the  keen  eye  of  her  sex,  she  saw  that  the  fe- 
male sei*Arants  Avere  also  in  considerable  -anxiety. 
The  fact  is,  they  had  just  extemporized  a  lie. 

Tom  Leicester,  being  near  the  kitchen  AvindoAV, 
had  seen  Griffith  ride  into  the  court-yard. 

At  sight  of  that  Avell-knoAvn  figure  he  dreAV 
back,  and  his  heart  quaked  at  his  OAvn  impru- 
dence in  confiding  Griffith's  secret  to  Caroline 
Ryder. 

"  Lasses,"  said  he,  hastily,  "  do  me  a  kindness 
for  old  acquaintance.  Here's  the  squire.  For 
heaven's  sake  don't  let  him  knoAv  I  am  in  the 
house,  or  there  Avill  be  bloodshed  betAveen  us ; 
he  is  a  hasty  man,  and  I'm  another.  I'll  tell  ye 
more  by-and-by." 

The  next  moment  Griffith's  tread  Avas  heard 
approaching  the  very  door,  and  Leicester  darted 
into  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  hid  in  a  cup- 
board there. 

Griffith  opened  the  kitchen  door  and  stood 
upon  the  threshold. 

The  Avomen  courtesied  to  him,  and  Avere  loud 
in  Avelcome. 

He  returned  their  civilities  briefly ;  and  then 
his  first  Avord  was,  "  Hath  Thomas  Leicester 
been  here?" 

You  knoAv  how  servants  stick  together  against 
their  master.  The  girls  looked  him  in  the  face, 
like  candid  doA-es,  and  told  him  Leicester  had 
not  been  that  way  for  six  months  or  more. 

' '  Why,  I  have  tracked  him  to  within  two 
miles,"  said  Griffith,  doubtfully. 


106 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT :  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"Then  he  is  sure  to  come  here,"  said  Jane, 
adroitly.  "  He  wouldn't  ever  think  to  go  by 
us." 

u  The  moment  he  enters  the  house  you  let  me 
know.     He  is  a  mischief-making  loon." 

He  then  asked  for  a  horn  of  ale  ;  and,  as  he 
finished  it,  Ryder  came  in,  and  he  turned  to  her, 
and  asked  her  after  her  mistress. 

"  She  was  well  just  now,"  said  Ryder,  "but  she 
has  been  took  with  a  spasm ;  and  it  would  be 
well,  sir,  if  you  could  dress,  and  entertain  the 
company  in  her  place  a  while.  For  I  must  tell 
you  your  being  so  long  away  hath  set  their 
tongues  going,  and  almost  broken  my  lady's 
heart." 

Griffith  sighed,  and  said  he  could  not  help  it, 
and,  now  he  was  here,  he  would  do  all  in  his 
power  to  please  her.  "I'll  go  to  her  at  once," 
said  he. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Ryder,  firmly.  "  Come  with 
me.     I  want  to  speak  to  you. " 

She  took  him  to  his  bachelor's  room,  and  staid 
a  few  minutes  to  talk  to  him. 

"  Master,"  said  she,  solemnly,  "things  are  very 
serious  here.  Why  did  you  stay  so  long  away  ? 
Our  dame  says  some  woman  is  at  the  bottom  of 
it,  and  she'll  put  a  knife  into  you  if  you  come  a 
nigh  her." 

This  threat  did  not  appal  Griffith,  as  Ryder 
expected.     Indeed,  he  seemed  rather  flattered. 

"  Poor  Kate  !"  said  he,  "  she  is  just  the  wom- 
an to  do  it.  But  I  am  afraid  she  does  not  love 
me  enough  for  that.  But,  indeed,  how  should 
she?" 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Ryder,  "oblige  me  by 
keeping  clear  of  her  for  a  little  while.  I  have 
got  orders  to  make  your  bed  here.  Now  dress, 
like  a  good  soul,  and  then  go  down  and  show  re- 
spect to  the  company  that  is  in  your  house,  for 
they  know  you  are  here." 

"  Why,  that  is  the  least  I  can  do,"  said  Grif- 
fith. "Put  you  out  what  I  am  to  wear,  and 
then  run  and  say  I'll  be  with  them  anon." 

Griffith  Avalked  into  the  dining-room,  and, 
somewhat  to  his  surprise,  after  what  Ryder  had 
said,  found  Mrs.  Gaunt  seated  at  the  head  of  her 
own  table,  and  presiding  like  a  radiant  queen 
over  a  brilliant  assembly. 

He  walked  in,  and  made  a  low  bow  to  his 
guests  first ;  then  he  approached,  to  greet  his 
wife  more  freely ;  but  she  drew  back  decidedly, 
and  made  him  a  courtesy,  the  dignity  and  dis- 
tance of  which  struck  the  whole  company. 

Sir  George  Neville,  who  was  at  the  bottom  of 
the  table,  proposed,  with  his  usual  courtesy,  to 
resign  his  place  to  Griffith.  But  Mrs.  Gaunt 
forbade  the  arrangement. 

"No,  Sir  George,"  said  she,  "this  is  but  an 
occasional  visitor ;  you  are  my  constant  friend. " 

If  this  had  been  said  pleasantly,  well  and  good  ; 
but  the  guests  looked  in  vain  into  their  hostess's 
face  for  the  smile  that  ought  to  have  accompa- 
nied so  strange  a  speech  and  disarmed  it. 

"Rarities  are  the  more  welcome,"  said  a  lady, 
coming  to  the  rescue,  and  edged  aside  to  make 
room  for  him. 

"  Madam,"  said  Griffith,  "I  am  in  your  debt 
for  that  explanation  ;  but  I  hope  you  will  be  no 
rarity  here,  for  all  that." 

Supper  proceeded,  but  the  mirth  languished. 
Somehow  or  other,  the  chill  fact  that  there  was 
a  grave  quarrel  between  two  at  the  table,  and 


those  two  man  and  wife,  insinuated  itself  into  the 
spirits  of  the  guests. 

There  began  to  be  lulls — fatal  lulls.  And  in 
one  of  these,  some  unlucky  voice  was  heard  to 
murmur,  "Such  a  meeting  of  man  and  wife  I 
never  saw." 

The  hearers  felt  miserable  at  this  personality, 
that  fell  upon  the  ear  of  Silence  like  a  thunder- 
bolt. 

Griffith  was  ill-advised  enough  to  notice  the 
remark,  though  clearly  not  intended  for  his  ears. 
For  one  thing,  his  jealousy  had  actually  revived 
at  the  cool  preference  Kate  had  shown  his  old 
rival,  Neville. 

"Oh!"  said  he,  bitterry,  "a  man  is  not  al- 
ways his  wife's  favorite. " 

"  He  does  not  always  deserve  to  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  sternly. 

When  matters  had  gone  that  length,  one  idea 
seemed  to  occur  pretty  simidtaneously  to  all  the 
well-bred  guests,  and  that  idea  was,  Sauve  qui 
peut. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  took  leave  of  them  one  by  one, 
and  husband  and  wife  were  left  alone. 

Mrs.  Gaunt,  by  this  time  was  alarmed  at  the 
violence  of  her  own  passions,  and  wished  to  avoid 
Griffith  for  that  night,  at  all  events.  So  she  cast 
one  terribly  stern  look  upon  him,  and  was  about 
to  retire  in  grim  silence.  But  he,  indignant  at 
the  public  affront  she  had  put  on  him,  and  not 
aware  of  the  true  cause,  unfortunately  detained 
her.  He  said,  sulkily,  "  What  sort  of  a  recep- 
tion was  that  you  gave  me  ?" 

This  was  too  much.  She  turned  on  him  furi- 
ously. "  Too  good  for  thee,  thou  heartless  creat- 
ure !  Thomas  Leicester  is  here,  and  I  know 
thee  for  a  villain." 

' '  You  know  nothing, "  cried  Griffith.  ' '  Would 
you  believe  that  mischief-making  knave  ?  What 
has  he  told  you  ?" 

"  Go  back  to  her!"  cried  Mrs.  Gaunt,  furious- 
ly. ' '  Me  you  can  deceive  and  pillage  no  more. 
So,  this  was  your  jealousy !  False  and  forsworn 
yourself,  you  dared  to  suspect  and  insult  me. 
Ah !  and  you  think  I  am  the  woman  to  endure 
this  ?  I'll  have  your  life  for  it !  I'll  have  your 
life." 

Griffith  endeavored  to  soften  her;  protested 
that,  notwithstanding  appearances,  he  had  never 
loved  but  her. 

"I'll  soon  be  rid  of  you  and  your  love,"  said 
the  raging  woman.  "  The  constables  shall  come 
for  you  to-morrow.  You  have  seen  how  I  can 
love,  you  shall  know  how  I  can  hate. " 

She  then,  in  her  fury,  poured  out  a  torrent  of 
reproaches  and  threats  that  made  his  blood  run 
cold.  He  could  not  answer  her:  he  had  sus- 
pected her  Avrongfully,  and  been  false  to  her  him- 
self. He  had  abused  her  generosity,  and  taken 
her  money  for  Mercy  Vint. 

After  one  or  two  vain  efforts  to  check  the  tor- 
rent, he  sank  into  a  chair,  and  hid  his  face  in  his 
hands. 

But  this  did  not  disarm  her  at  the  time.  Her 
raging  voice  and  raging  words  were  heard  by  the 
very  servants  long  after  he  had  ceased  to  defend 
himself. 

At  last  she  came  out,  pale  with  fury,  and,  find- 
ing Ryder  near  the  door,  shrieked  out,  "Take 
that  reptile  to  his  den,  if  he  is  mean  enough  to 
lie  in  this  house ;"  then,  lowering  her  voice,  "and 
bring  Thomas  Leicester  to  me." 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


Ryder  went  to  Leicester,  and  told  him.  But 
he  objected  to  come.  "You  have  betrayed  me," 
said  he.  "Curse  my  weak  heart  and  my  loose 
tongue !  I  have  done  the  poor  squire  an  ill  turn, 
lean  never  look  him  in  the  face  again.  But  'tis  all 
thy  fault,  double-face.    I  hate  the  sight  of  thee." 

At  this  Ryder  shed  some  crocodile  tears ;  and 
very  soon,  by  her  blandishments,  obtained  for- 
giveness. 

And  Leicester,  since  the  mischief  was  done, 
was  persuaded  to  see  the  dame,  who  was  his  re- 
cent benefactor,  you  know.  He  bargained,  how- 
ever, that  the  squire  should  be  got  to  bed  first, 
for  he  had  a  great  dread  of  meeting  him.  ' ' He'll 
break  every  bone  in  my  skin,"  said  Tom,  "or 
else  I  shall  do  him  a  mischief  in  my  defense. " 

Ryder  herself  saw  the  wisdom  of  this  :  she 
bade  him  stay  quiet,  and  she  went  to  look  after 
Griffith. 

She  found  him  in  the  drawing-room,  with  his 
head  on  the  table,  in  deep  dejection. 

She  assumed  authority,  and  said  he  must  go 
to  bed. 

He  rose  humbly,  and  followed  her  like  a  sub- 
missive dog. 

She  took  him  to  his  room.    There  was  no  fire. 

"That  is  where  you  are  to  sleep,"  said  she, 
spitefully. 

"It  is  better  than  I  deserve,"  said  he,  humbly. 

The  absurd  rule  about  not  hitting  a  man  when 
he  is  down  has  never  obtained  a  place  in  the 
great  female  soul ;  so  Ryder  lashed  him  without 
mercy. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  she,  "methinks  you  have 
gained  little  by  breaking  faith  with  me.  Y'  had 
better  have  set  up  your  inn  with  me,  than  gone 
and  sinned  against  the  law." 

"  Much  better :  would  to  Heaven  I  had  !" 

"What  d'ye  mean  to  do  now?  You  know 
the  saying — between  two  stools — , 

"Child,"  said  Griffith,  faintly,  "methinks  I 
shall  trouble  neither  long.  I  am  not  so  ill  a 
man  as  I  seem  ;  but  who  will  believe  that  ?  I 
shall  not  live  long,  and  I  shall  leave  an  ill  name 
behind  me.  She  told  me  so  just  now.  And,  oh ! 
her  eye  Avas  so  cruel ;  I  saw  my  death  in  it. " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Ryder,  relenting  a  little, 
"you  mustn't  believe  every  word  an  angry  wom- 
an says.  There,  take  my  advice ;  go  to  bed ; 
and  in  the  morning  don't  speak  to  her ;  keep  out 
of  her  way  a  day  or  two." 

And  with  this  piece  of  friendly  advice  she  left 
him,  and  waited  about  till  she  thought  he  was  in 
bed  and  asleep. 

Then  she  brought  Thomas  Leicester  up  to  her 
mistress. 

But  Griffith  was  not  in  bed,  and  he  heard 
Leicester's  heavy  tread  cross  the  landing.  He 
waited  and  waited  behind  his  door  for  more  than 
half  an  hour,  and  then  he  heard  the  same  heavy 
tread  go  away  again. 

By  this  time  nearly  all  the  inmates  of  the 
house  were  asleep. 

About  twenty-five  minutes  after  Leicester  left 
Mrs.  Gaunt,  Caroline  Ryder  stole  quietly  up  stairs 
from  the  kitchen,  and  sat  down  to  think  it  all 
over. 

She  then  proceeded  to  undress,  but  had  only 
taken  off  her  gown,  when  she  started  and  listen- 
ed, for  a  cry  of  distress  reached  her  from  outside 
the  house. 

She  darted  to  the  window  and  threw  it  open. 


107 
"Help! 


Then  she  heard  a  cry  more  distinct, 
help!" 

It  was  a  clear,  starlight  night,  but  no  moon. 

The  mere  shone  before  her,  and  the  cries  were 
on  the  bank. 

Now  came  something  more  alarming  still.  A 
flash — a  pistol-shot ;  and  an  agonized  voice  cried 
loudly,  " Murder !    Help!    Murder!" 

That  voice  she  knew  directly.  It  was  Griffith 
Gaunt's. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Ryder  ran  screaming,  and  alarmed  the  other 
servants. 

All  the  windows  that  looked  on  the  mere  were 
flung  open. 

But  no  more  sounds  were  heard.  A  terrible 
silence  brooded  now  over  those  clear  waters. 

The  female  servants  huddled  together  and 
quaked ;  for  who  could  doubt  that  a  bloody  deed 
had  beert-done  ? 

It  was  some  time  before  they  mustered  the 
presence  of  mind  to  go  and  tell  Mrs.  Gaunt.  At 
last  they  opened  her  door.  She  was  not  in  her 
room. 

Ryder  ran  to  Griffith's.     It  was  locked. 

She  called  to  him.     He  made  no  reply. 

They  burst  the  door  open.  He  was  not  there ; 
and  the  window  was  open. 

While  their  tongues  were  all  going  in  conster- 
nation, Mrs.  Gaunt  was  suddenly  among  them, 
very  pale. 

They  turned,  and  looked  at  her  aghast. 

"What  means  all  this?"  said  she.  "Did  I 
not  hear  cries  outside?"' 

"Ay,"  said  Ryder;  "murder!  and  a  pistol 
fired.     Oh,  my  poor  master  !" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  white  as  death,  but  self-pos- 
sessed. "  Light  torches  this  moment  and  search 
the  place,"  said  she. 

There  was  only  one  man  in  the  house,  and  he 
declined  to  go  out  alone.  So  Ryder  and  Mrs. 
Gaunt  went  with  him,  all  three  bearing  lighted 
links. 

They  searched  the  place  where  Ryder  had 
heard  the  cries.  They  went  up  and  down  the 
whole  bank  of  the  mere,  and  cast  their  torches' 
red  light  over  the  placid  waters  themselves.  But 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  alive  or  dead — no 
trace  either  of  calamity  or  crime. 

They  roused  the  neighbors,  and  came  back  to 
the  house  with  their  clothes  all  draggled  and 
dirty. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  took  Ryder  apart,  and  asked  her 
if  she  could  guess  at  what  time  of  the  night 
Griffith  had  made  his  escape. 

"He  is  a  villain,"  said  she,  "yet  1  would  not 
have  him  come  to  harm,  God  knows.  There  are 
thieves  abroad.  But  I  hope  he  ran  away  as  soon 
as  your  back  was  turned,  and  so  fell  not  in  with 
them." 

"  Humph  ! "  said  Ryder.  Then,  looking  Mrs. 
Gaunt  in  the  face,  she  said,  quietly,  "Where 
were  you  Avhen  you  heard  the  cries  ?" 

"  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  house." 

"  What,  out  o'  doors  at  that  time  of  night !" 

"  Ay,  I  was  in  the  grove,  praying." 

"  Hid  you  hear  any  voice  you  knew  ?" 

"  No ;  all  was  too  indistinct.  I  heard  a  pistol, 
but  no  words.     Did  vou  ?" 


108 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"I  heard  no  more  than  you,  madam,"  said 
Ryder,  trembling. 

No  one  went  to  bed  any  more  that  night  in 
Hernshaw  Castle. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

This  mysterious  circumstance  made  a  great 
talk  in  the  village  and  in  the  kitchen  of  Hern- 
shaw Castle,  but  not  in  the  drawing-room,  for 
Mrs.  Gaunt  instantly  closed  her  door  to  visitors, 
and  let  it  be  known  that  it  was  her  intention  to 
retire  to  a  convent ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  she 
desired  not  to  be  disturbed. 

Ryder  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  draw 
her  out  upon  the  subject,  but  was  sternly 
checked. 

Pale,  gloomy,  and  silent,  the  mistress  of 
Hernshaw  Castle  moved  about  the  place  like  the 
ghost  of  her  former  self.  She  never  mentioned 
Griffith ;  forbade  his  name  to  be  uttered  in  her 
hearing ;  and,  strange  to  say,  gave  Ryder  strict 
orders  not  to  tell  any  one  what  she  had  heard 
from  Thomas  Leicester. 

"  This  last  insult  is  known  but  to  you  and  me. 
If  it  ever  ge- s  abroad,  you  leave  my  service  that 
very  hour. " 

This  injunction  set  Ryder  thinking.  How- 
ever, she  obeyed  it  to  the  letter.  Her  place  Avas 
getting  better  and  better,  and  she  was  a  woman 
accustomed  to  keep  secrets. 

A  pressing  letter  came  from  Mr.  Atkins. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  replied  that  her  husband  had  come 
to  Hernshaw,  but  had  left  again,  and  the  period 
of  his  ultimate  return  was  now  more  uncertain 
than  ever. 

On  this  Mr.  Atkins  came  down  to  Hernshaw 
Castle.  But  Mrs.  Gaunt  would  not  see  him. 
He  retired  very  angry,  and  renewed  his  adver- 
tisements, but  in  a  more  explicit  form.  He  now 
published  that  Griffith  Gaunt,  of  Hernshaw  and 
Bolton,  was  executor  and  residuary  legatee  to 
the  late  Griffith  Gaunt,  of  Coggleswade,  and  re- 
quested him  to  apply  directly  to  James  Atkins, 
Solicitor,  of  Gray's  Inn,  London. 

In  due  course  this  advertisement  was  read  by 
the  servants  at  Hernshaw,  and  shown  by  Ryder 
to  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

She  made  no  comment  whatever,  and  con- 
trived to  render  her  pale  face  impenetrable. 

Ryder  became  as  silent  and  thoughtful  as 
herself,  and  often  sat  bending  her  black  judicial 
brows. 

By-and-by  dark  mysterious  words  began  to  be 
thrown  out  in  Hernshaw  village. 
' '  He  will  never  come  back  at  all. " 
"  He  will  never  come  into  that  fortune." 
"  'Tis  no  use  advertising  for  a  man  that  is  past 
reading." 

These,  and  the  like  equivocal  sayings,  were 
followed  by  a  vague  buzz,  which  was  traceable 
to  no  individual  author,  but  seemed  to  rise  on 
all  sides,  like  a  dark  mist,  and  envelop  that  un- 
happy house. 

And  that  dark  mist  of  Rumor  soon  condensed 
itself  into  a  palpable  aud  terrible  whisper,  "Grif- 
fith Gaunt  hath  met  with  foul  play. " 

No  one  of  the  servants  told  Mrs.  Gaunt  this 
horrid  rumor. 


But  the  women  used  to  look  at  her,  and  after 
her,  with  strange  eyes. 

She  noticed  this,  and  felt,  somehow,  that  her 
people  were  falling  away  from  her.  It  added 
one  drop  to  her  bitter  cup.  She  began  to  droop 
into  a  sort  of  calm,  despondent  lethargy. 

Then  came  fresh  trouble  to  rouse  her. 

Two  of  the  county  magistrates  called  on  her 
in  their  official  capacity,  and,  with  perfect  polite- 
ness, but  a  very  grave  air,  requested  her  to  inform 
them  of  all  the  circumstances  attending  her  hus- 
band's disappearance. 

She  replied,  coldly  and  curtly,  that  she  knew 
very  little  about  it.  Her  husband  had  left  in 
the  middle  of  the  night. 

"He  came  to  stay?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"  Came  on  horseback  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Did  he  go  away  on  horseback  ?" 

"  No ;  for  the  horse  is  now  in  my  stable." 

"Is  it  true  there  was  a  quarrel  between  you 
and  him  that  evening  ?" 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  drawing  her- 
self back  haughtily,  "did  you  come  here  to  grat- 
ify your  curiosity  ?" 

"No,  madam,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two, 
"but  to  discharge  a  very  serious  and  painful 
duty,  in  which  I  earnestly  request  you,  and 
even  advise  you,  to  aid  us.  Was  there  a  quar- 
rel?" 

"  There  was — a  mortal  quarrel." 

The  gentlemen  exchanged  glances,  and  the 
elder  made  a  note. 

"May  we  ask  the  subject  of  that  quarrel?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  declined,  positively,  to  enter  into 
a  matter  so  delicate. 

A  note  was  taken  of  this  refusal. 

"Are  you  aware,  madam,  that  your  husband's 
voice  was  heard  calling  for  help,  and  that  a  pistol- 
shot  was  fired  ?" 

Mrs.  Gaunt  trembled  visibly. 

"I  heard  the  pistol-shot,"  said  she,  "but  not 
the  voice  distinctly.  Oh,  I  hope  it  was  not  his 
voice  Ryder  heard." 

"Ryder,  who  is  he?" 

"  Ryder  is  my  lady's  maid :  her  bedroom  is  on 
that  side  the  house." 

"Can  we  see  Mrs.  Ryder?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  and  rose  and 
rang  the  bell. 

Mrs.  Ryder  answered  the  bell  in  person  very 
promptly,  for  she  was  listening  at  the  door. 

Being  questioned,  she  told  the  magistrates 
what  she  had  heard  down  by  "the  mere,"  and 
said  she  was  sure  it  was  her  master's  voice  that 
cried  "  Help !"  and  "  Murder !"  And  with  this 
she  began  to  cry. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  trembled  and  turned  pale. 

The  magistrates  confined  their  questions  to 
Ryder. 

They  elicited,  however,  very  little  more  from 
her.  She  saw  the  drift  of  their  questions,  and 
had  an  impulse  to  defend  her  mistress  there 
present.  Behind  her  back  it  would  have  been 
otherwise. 

That  resolution  once  taken,  two  children  might 
as  well  have  tried  to  extract  evidence  from  her 
as  two  justices  of  the  peace. 

And  then  Mrs.  Gaunt's  pale  face  and  noble 
features  touched  them.  The  case  was  mysteri- 
ous, but  no  more ;   and  they  departed  little  the 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


It)9 


wiser,  and  with  some  apologies  for  the  trouble 
they  had  given  her. 

The  next  week  down  came  Mr.  Atkins  out  of 
all  patience,  and  determined  to  find  Griffith 
Gaunt,  or  else  obtain  some  proof  of  his  decease. 

He  obtained  two  interviews  with  Ryder,  and 
bribed  her  to  tell  him  all  she  knew.  He  prose- 
cuted other  inquiries  with  more  method  than  had 
hitherto  been  used,  and  elicited  an  important 
fact,  viz.,  that  Griffith  Gaunt  had  been  seen  walk- 
ing in  a  certain  direction  at  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  followed  at  a  short  distance  by  a  tall 
man  with  a  knapsack,  or  the  like,  on  his  back. 

The  person  who  gave  this  tardy  information 
was  the  wife  of  a  certain  fanner's  man,  who 
wired  hares  upon  the  sly.  The  man  himself, 
being  assured  that,  in  a  case  so  serious  as  this, 
no  particular  inquiries  should  be  made  how  he 
came  to  be  out  so  late,  confirmed  what  his  wife 
had  let  out,  and  added  that  both  men  had  taken 
the  way  that  would  lead  them  to  the  bridge, 
meaning  the  bridge  over  the  mere.  More  than 
that  he  could  not  say,  for  he  had  met  them,  and 
was  full  half  a  mile  "from  the  mere  before  those 
men  could  have  reached  it. 

Following  up  this  clew,  Mr.  Atkins  learned  so 
many  ugly  things  that  he  went  to  the  Bench  on 
justicing  day,  and  demanded  a  full  and  search- 
ing inquiry  on  the  premises. 

Sir  George  Neville,  after  in  vain  opposing  this, 
rode  off  straight  from  the  Bench  to  Hernshaw, 
and  in  feeling  terms  conveyed  the  bad  news  to 
Mrs.  Gaunt ;  and  then,  with  the  utmost  delicacy, 
let  her  know  that  some  suspicion  rested  upon 
herself,  which  she  would  do  well  to  meet  with  the 
bold  front  of  innocence. 

"What  suspicion,  pray?"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt, 
haughtily. 

Sir  George  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  re- 
plied, "  That  you  have  done  Gaunt  the  honor — 
to  put  him  out  of  the  way." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  took  this  very  differently  from 
what  Sir  George  expected. 

"What!"  she  cried,  "are  they  so  sure  he  is 
dead?  murdered!" 

And  with  this,  she  went  into  a  passion  of  grief 
and  remorse. 

Even  Sir  George  Avas  puzzled,  as  well  as  af- 
fected, by  her  convulsive  agitation. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Though  it  was  known  the  proposed  inquiry 
might  result  in  the  committal  of  Mrs.  Gaunt  on 
a  charge  of  murder,  yet  the  respect  in  which  she 
had  hitherto  been  held,  and  the  influence  of  Sir 
George  Neville,  who,  having  been  her  lover, 
stoutly  maintained  her  innocence,  prevailed  so 
far  that  even  this  inquiry  was  private  and  at  her 
own  house.  Only  she  was  present  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  suspected  person,  and  the  witnesses 
were  examined  before  her. 

First,  the  poacher  gave  his  evidence. 

Then  Jane  the  cook  proved  that  a  peddler 
called  Thomas  Leicester  had  been  in  the  kitchen, 
and  secreted  about  the  premises  till  a  late  hour ; 
and  this  Thomas  Leicester  corresponded  exactly 
to  the  description  given  by  the  poacher. 

This  threw  suspicion  on  Thomas  Leicester,  but 
did  not  connect  Mrs.  Gaunt  with  the  deed  in  any 
way. 


But  Ryder's  evidence  filled  this  gap.  She  re- 
vealed three  serious  facts : 

First,  that,  by  her  mistress's  orders,  she  had 
introduced  this  very  Leicester  into  her  mistress's 
room  about  midnight,  where  he  had  remained 
nearly  half  an  hour,  and  had  then  left  the  house. 

Secondly,  that  Mrs.  Gaunt  herself  had  been 
out  of  doors  after  midnight. 

And,  thirdly,  that  she  had  listened  at  the  door, 
and  heard  her  threaten  Griffith  Gaunt's  life. 

This  is  a  mere  precis  of  the  evidence,  and  alto- 
gether it  looked  so  suspicious,  that  the  magis- 
trates, after  telling  Mrs.  Gaunt  she  could  ask  the 
witnesses  any  question  she  chose,  a  suggestion 
she  treated  with  marked  contempt,  put  their 
heads  together  a  moment,  and  whispered.  Then 
the  eldest  of  them,  Mr.  Underhill,  who  lived  at  a 
considerable  distance,  told  her  gravely  he  must 
commit  her  to  take  her  trial  at  the  next  as- 
sizes. 

1 '  Do  what  you  conceive  to  be  your  duty,  gen- 
tlemen," said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  with  marvelous  dig- 
nity. "  If  I  do  not  assert  my  innocence,  it  is  be- 
cause I  disdain  the  accusation  too  much." 

"I  shall  take  no  part  in  the  committal  of  this 
innocent  lady,"  said  Sir  George  Neville ;  and  was 
about  to  leave  the  room. 

But  Mrs.  Gaunt  begged  him  to  stay.  "  To  be 
guilty  is  one  thing,"  said  she,  "to  be  accused  is 
another  :  I  shall  go  to  prison  as  easy  as  to  my 
dinner,  and  to  the  gallows  as  to  my  bed." 

The  presiding  magistrate  was  staggered  a  mo- 
ment by  these  words,  and  it  was  not  without 
considerable  hesitation  he  took  the  warrant  and 
prepared  to  fill  it  up. 

Then  Mr.  Houseman,  who  had  watched  the 
proceedings  very  keenly,  put  in  his  word.  "I 
am  here  for  the  accused  person,  sir,  and,  with 
your  good  leave,  object  to  her  committal — on 
grounds  of  law." 

"What  may  they  be,  Mr.  Houseman?"  said 
the  magistrate,  civilly  ;  and  laid  his  pen  down  to 
hear  them. 

"  Briefly,  sir,  these.  Where  a  murder  is  prov- 
en, you  can  commit  a  subject  of  this  realm  upon 
suspicion.  But  you  can  not  suspect  the  murder 
as  well  as  the  culprit,  and  so  commit.  The  mur- 
der must  be  proved  to  the  senses.  Now  in  this 
case  the  death  of  Mr.  Gaunt  by  violence  is  not 
proved.  Indeed,  his  very  death  rests  but  upon 
suspicion.  I  admit  that  the  law  of  England  in 
this  respect  has  once  or  twice  been  tampered 
with,  and  persons  have  even  been  executed  where 
no  corpus  delicti  was  found ;  but  what  was  the 
consequence  ?  In  each  case  the  murdered  man 
turned  out  to  be  alive,  and  justice  was  the  only 
murderer.  After  Harrison's  case,  and  *'s,  no 
Cumberland  jury  will  ever  commit  for  murder, 
unless  the  corpus  delicti  has  been  found,  and 
with  signs  of  violence  upon  it.  Come,  ccme,  Mr. 
Atkins,  you  are  too  good  a  lawyer,  and  too  hu- 
mane a  man,  to  send  my  client  to  prison  on  the 
suspicion  of  a  suspicion,  which  you  know  the  very 
breath  of  the  judge  will  blow  away,  even  if  the 
grand  jury  let  it  go  into  court.  I  offer  bail,  ten 
thousand  pounds  in  two  sureties — Sir  George 
Neville  here  present,  and  myself." 

The  magistrate  looked  at*Mr.  Atkins. 

"I  am  not  employed  by  the  crown,"  said  that 
gentleman,  "but  acting  on  mere  civil  grounds, 
and  have  no  right  nor  wish  to  be  severe.  Bail 
by  all  means  ;  but  is  the  lady  so  sure  of  her  in- 


110 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


nocence  as  to  lend  me  her  assistance  to  find  the 
corpus  delicti?" 

The  question  was  so  shrewdly  put  that  any 
hesitation  would  have  ruined  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

Houseman  therefore  replied  eagerly  and 
promptly,  "I  answer  for  her,  she  will." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  bowed  her  head  in  assent. 

"  Then,"  said  Atkins,  "I  ask  leave  to  drag, 
and,  if  need  be,  to  drain  that  piece  of  water  there, 
called  '  the  mere. '  " 

"Drag  it  or  drain  it,  which  you  will,"  said 
Houseman. 

8aid  Atkins,  very  impressively,  "And,  mark 
my  words,  at  the  bottom  of  that  very  sheet  of 
water  there  I  shall  find  the  remains  of  the  late 
Griffith  Gaunt." 

At  these  solemn  words,  coming,  as  they  did, 
not  from  a  loose  unprofessional  speaker,  but  from 
a  lawyer,  a  man  who  measured  all  his  words,  a 
very  keen  observer  might  have  seen  a  sort  of 
tremor  run  all  through  Mr.  Houseman's  frame. 
The  more  admirable  was  the  perfect  coolness  and 
seeming  indifference  with  which  he  replied. 

"  Find  him,  and  I'll  admit  suicide ;  find  him, 
with  signs  of  violence,  and  I'll  admit  homicide,  by 
some  person  or  persons  unknown." 

All  farther  remarks  were  interrupted  by  bus- 
tle and  confusion. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  had  fainted  dead  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

Of  course  pity  was  the  first  feeling ;  but,  by 
the  time  Mrs.  Gaunt  revived,  her  fainting,  so 
soon  after  Mr.  Atkins's  proposal,  had  produced  a 
sinister  effect  on  the  minds  of  all  present,  and 
every  face  showed  it  except  the  wary  House- 
man's. 

On  her  retiring,  it  broke  out  first  in  murmurs, 
then  in  plain  words. 

As  for  Mr.  Atkins,  he  now  showed  the  moder- 
ation of  an  able  man  who  feels  he  has  a  strong 
cause. 

He  merely  said, "  I  think  there  should  be  con- 
stables about,  in  case  of  an  escape  being  attempt- 
ed; but  I  agree  with  Mr.  Houseman  that  your 
worships  will  be  quite  justified  in  taking  bail, 
provided  the  corpus  delicti  should  not  be  found. 
Gentlemen,  you  were  most  of  you  neighbors  and 
friends  of  the  deceased,  and  are,  I  am  sure,  lov- 
ers of  justice :  I  do  entreat  you  to  aid  me  in 
searching  that  piece  of  water,  by  the  side  of 
which  the  deceased  gentleman  was  heard  to  cry 
for  help ;  and,  much  I  fear,  he  cried  in  vain." 

The  persons  thus  appealed  to  entered  into  the 
matter  with  all  the  ardor  of  just  men  whose  cu- 
riosity as  well  as  justice  is  inflamed. 

A  set  of  old  rusty  drags  was  found  on  the 
premises,  and  men  went  punting  up  and  down 
the  mere,  and  dragged  it. 

Rude  hooks  were  made  by  the  village  black- 
smith, and  fitted  to  cart-ropes  ;  another  boat  was 
brought  to  Hernshaw  in  a  wagon,  and  all  that 
afternoon  the  bottom  of  the  mere  was  raked, 
and  some  curious  things  fished  up,  but  no  dead 
man. 

The  next  day  a  score  of  amateur  dragsmen 
were  out — some  throwing  their  drags  from  the 
bridge,  some  circulating  in  boats,  and  even  in 
large  tubs. 

And,  meantime,  Mr.  Atkins  and  his  crew  went 


steadily  up  and  down,  dragging  every  foot  of 
those  placid  waters. 

They  Avorked  till  dinner-time,  and  brought  up 
a  good  copper  pot  with  two  handles,  a  horse's 
head,  and  several  decayed  trunks  of  trees,  which 
had  become  saturated,  and  sunk  to  the  bottom. 

At  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  two  boys, 
who,  for  want  of  a  boat,  were  dragging  from  the 
bridge,  found  something  heavy,  but  elastic,  at  the 
end  of  their  drag :  they  pulled  up  eagerly,  and  a 
thing  like  a  huge  turnip,  half  gnawed,  came  up 
with  a  great  bob,  and  blasted  their  sight. 

They  let  go,  drags  and  all,  and  stood  shrieking 
and  shrieking. 

Those  who  were  nearest  them  called  out,  and 
asked  what  was  the  matter ;  but  the  boys  did  not 
reply,  and  their  faces  showed  so  white,  that  a 
woman  who  saw  them  screamed  to  Mr.  Atkins, 
and  said  she  was  sure  those  boys  had  seen  some- 
thing out  of  the  common. 

Mr.  Atkins  came  up,  and  found  the  boys  blub- 
bering. He  encouraged  them,  and  they  told  him 
a  fearful  thing  had  come  up  ;  it  was  like  a  man's 
head  and  shoulders  all  scooped  out  and  gnawed 
by  the  fishes,  and  had  torn  the  drags  out  of  their 
hands. 

Mr.  Atkins  made  them  tell  him  the  exact 
place,  and  was  soon  upon  it  with  his  boat. 

The  water  here  was  very  deep,  and  though  the 
boys  kept  pointing  to  the  very  spot,  the  drags 
found  nothing  for  some  time. 

But  at  last  they  showed,  by  their  resistance, 
that  they  had  clawed  hold  of  something. 

"Draw  slowly,"  s;.id  Mr.  Atkins,  "  and  if  it 
is,  be  men,  and  hold  fast." 

The  men  drew  slowly,  slowly,  and  presently 
there  rose  to  the  surface  a  Thing  to  strike  terror 
and  loathing  into  the  stoutest  heart. 

The  mutilated  remains  of  a  human  face  and 
body. 

The  greedy  pike  had  cleared,  not  the  features 
only,  but  the  entire  flesh  off  the  face,  but  had 
left  the  hair,  and  the  tight  skin  of  the  forehead, 
though  their  teeth  had  raked  this  last.  The 
remnants  they  had  left  made  what  they  had  mu- 
tilated doubly  horrible,  since  now  it  was  not  a 
skull,  not  a  skeleton,  but  a  face  and  a  man  gnaw- 
ed down  to  the  bones,  and  hair,  and  feet.  These 
last  were  in  stout  shoes  that  resisted  even  those 
voracious  teeth  ;  and  a  leathern  stock  had  offer- 
ed some  little  protection  to  the  throat. 

The  men  groaned,  and  hid  their  faces  with  one 
hand,  and  pulled  softly  to  the  shore  with  the  oth- 
er ;  and  then,  with  half-averted  faces,  they  drew 
the  ghastly  remains  and  fluttering  rags  gently 
and  reverently  to  land. 

Mr.  Atkins  yielded  to  Nature,  and  was  vio- 
lently sick  at  the  sight  he  had  searched  for  so 
eagerly. 

As  soon  as  he  recovered  his  powers,  he  bade 
the  constables  guard  the  body  (it  was  a  body,  in 
law),  and  see  that  no  one  laid  so  much  as  a  fin- 
ger on  it  until  some  magistrate  had  taken  a  dep- 
osition. He  also  sent  a  messenger  to  Mr.  House- 
man, telling  him  the  corpus  delicti  was  found. 
He  did  this,  partly  to  show  that  gentleman  he 
was  right  in  his  judgment,  and  partly  out  of  com- 
mon humanity ;  since,  after  this  discovery,  Mr. 
Houseman's  client  was  sure  to  be  tried  for  her  life. 

A  magistrate  soon  came,  and  viewed  the  re- 
mains, and  took  careful  notes  of  the  state  in 
which  they  were  found. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT :  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


Ill 


Houseman  came,  and  was  much  affected,  both 
by  the  sight  of  his  dead  friend,  so  mutilated, 
and  by  the  probable  consequences  to  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
However,  as  lawyer's  fight  very  hard,  he  recover- 
ed himself  enough  to  remark  that  there  were  no 
marks  of  violence  before  death,  and  insisted  on 
this  being  inserted  in  the  magistrate's  notes. 


hours,  laid  on  a  table,  and  covered  with  a  white 
sheet. 

The  coroner's  jury  sat  in  the  same  room,  as 
was  then  the  custom,  and  the  evidence  I  have  al- 
ready noticed  was  gone  into,  and  the  finding  of 
the  body  deposed  to.  The  jury,  without  hesita- 
tion, returned  a  verdict  of  willful  murder. 


An  inquest  was  ordered  next  day,  and  mean- 
time Mrs.  Gaunt  was  told  sbe  could  not  quit  the 
upper  apartments  of  her  own  house.  Two  con- 
stables were  placed  on  the  ground  floor  night 
and  day. 

Next  day  the  remains  were  removed  to  the  lit- 
tle inn  where  Griffith  had  spent  so  many  jovial 


Mrs.  Gaunt  was  then  brought  in.  She  came, 
white  as  a  ghost,  leaning  upon  Houseman's  shoul- 
der. 

Upon  her  entering,  a  juryman,  by  a  humane 
impulse,  drew  the  sheet  over  the  remains  again. 

The  coroner,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
day,  put  a  question  to  Mrs.  Gaunt,  with  the  view 


112 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


of  eliciting  her  guilt.  If  I  remember  right,  he 
asked  her  how  she  came  to  be  out  of  doors  so 
late  on  the  night  of  the  murder.  Mrs.  Gaunt, 
however,  was  in  no  condition  to  answer  queries. 
I  doubt  if  she  even  heard  this  one.  Her  lovely- 
eyes,  dilated  with  horror,  were  fixed  on  that  ter- 
rible sheet  with  a  stony  glance.  "Show  me," 
she  gasped,  "  and  let  me  die  too." 

The  jurymen  looked,  with  doubtful  faces,  at 
the  coroner.     He  bowed  a  grave  assent. 

The  nearest  juryman  withdrew  the  sheet. 

Now  the  belief  was  not  yet  extinct  that  the 
dead  body  shows  some  signs  of  its  murderer's 
approach. 

So  every  eye  glared  on  her  and  It  by  turns,  as 
she,  with  dilated,  horror-stricken  orbs,  looked  on 
that  awful  Thing. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

She  recoiled  with  a  violent  shudder  at  first, 
and  hid  her  face  with  one  hand.  Then  she  grad- 
ually stole  a  horror-stricken  side  glance. 

She  had  not  looked  at  it  so  a  moment,  when 
she  uttered  a  loud  cry,  and  pointed  at  its  feet 
with  quivering  hand. 

"The  shoes!  the  shoes!  It  is  not  my 
Griffith." 

With  this  she  fell  into  violent  hysterics,  and 
was  carried  out  of  the  room  at  Houseman's  ear- 
nest entreaty. 

As  soon  as  she  was  gone,  Mr.  Houseman,  be- 
ing freed  from  his  fear  that  his  client  would  com- 
mit herself  irretrievably,  recovered  a  show  of 
composure,  and  his  wits  went  keenly  to  work. 

"On  behalf  of  the  accused,"  said  he,  "I  ad- 
mit the  suicide  of  some  person  unknown,  wear- 
ing heavy  hobnailed  shoes — probably  one  of  the 
lower  order  of  people. " 

This  adroit  remark  produced  some  little  effect, 
notwithstanding  the  strong  feeling  against  the 
accused. 

The  coroner  inquired  if  there  were  any  bodily 
marks  by  which  the  remains  could  be  identified. 

' '  My  master  had  a  long  black  mole  on  his 
forehead,"  suggested  Caroline  Ryder. 

" 'Tis  here!"  cried  a  juryman,  bending  over 
the  remains. 

And  now  they  all  gathered  in  great  excite- 
ment round  the  corpus  delicti ;  and  there,  sure 
enough,  was  a  long  black  mole. 

Then  there  was  a  buzz  of  pity  for  Griffith 
Gaunt,  followed  by  a  stern  murmur  of  execra- 
tion. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  coroner,  solemnly, " be- 
hold in  this  the  finger  of  Heaven.  The  poor  gen- 
tleman may  well  have  put  off  his  boots,  since,  it 
seems,  he  left  his  horse,  but  he  could  not  take 
from  his  forehead  his  natal  sign  ;  and  that,  by 
God's  will,  hath  strangely  escaped  mutilation, 
and  revealed  a  most  foul  deed.  We  must  now 
do  our  duty,  gentlemen,  without  respect  of  per- 
sons." 

A  warrant  was  then  issued  for  the  apprehension 
of  Thomas  Leicester.  And,  that  same  night, 
Mrs.  Gaunt  left  llernshaw  in  her  own  chariot 
between  two  constables,  and  escorted  by  armed 
yeomen. 

Her  proud  head  was  bowed  almost  to  her 
knees,  and  her  streaming  eyes  hidden  in  her 
lovely  hands.     For  why  ?    A  mob  accompanied 


her  for  miles,  shouting  "  Murderess !  Bloody  Pa- 
pist !  Hast  done  to  death  the  kindliest  gentle- 
man in  Cumberland.  We'll  all  come  to  see  thee 
hanged.  Fair  face  but  foul  heart!"  and  groan- 
ing, hissing,  and  cursing,  and,  indeed,  only  kept 
from  violence  by  the  escort. 

And  so  they  took  that  poor,  proud  lady,  and 
lodged  her  in  Carlisle  jail. 

She  was  enceinte  into  the  bargain  by  the  man 
she  was  to  he  hanged  for  murdering. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

The  county  was  against  her,  Avith  some  few 
exceptions.  Sir  George  Neville  and  Mr.  House- 
man stood  stoutly  by  her. 

Sir  George's  influence  and  money  obtained  her 
certain  comforts  in  jail ;  and,  in  that  day,  the 
law  of  England  was  so  far  respected  in  a  jail  that 
untried  prisoners  were  not  thrown  into  cells,  nor 
impeded,  as  they  now  are,  in  preparing  their  de- 
fense. 

Her  two  stanch  friends  visited  her  every  day, 
and  tried  to  keep  her  heart  up. 

But  they  could  not  do  it.  She  was  in  a  state 
of  dejection  bordering  upon  lethargy. 

"If  he  is  dead,"  said  she,  "what  matters  it? 
If,  by  God's  mercy,  he  is  alive  still,  he  will  not 
let  me  die  for  want  of  a  word  from  him.  Im- 
patience hath  been  my  bane.  Now  I  say,  God's 
will  be  done.     I  am  weary  of  the  world." 

Houseman  tried  every  argument  to  rouse  her 
out  of  this  desperate  frame  of  mind,  but  in  vain. 
It  ran  its  course,  and  then,  behold,  it  passed 
away  like  a  cloud,  and  there  came  a  keen  desire 
to  live  and  defeat  her  accusers. 

She  made  Houseman  write  out  all  the  evi- 
dence against  her,  and  she  studied  it  by  day,  and 
thought  of  it  by  night,  and  often  surprised  both 
her  friends  by  the  acuteness  of  her  remarks. 

Mr.  Atkins  discontinued  his  advertisements ; 
it  was  Houseman  who  now  filled  every  paper 
with  notices  informing  Griffith  Gaunt  of  his  ac- 
cession to  fortune,  and  entreated  him  for  that, 
and  other  weighty  reasons,  to  communicate  in 
confidence  with  his  old  friend  John  Houseman, 
attorney-at-law. 

Houseman  was  too  wary  to  invite  him  to  ap- 
pear and  save  his  wife,  for  in  that  case  he  feared 
the  crown  would  use  his  advertisements  as  evi- 
dence at  the  trial,  should  Griffith  not  appeal1. 

The  fact  is,  Houseman  relied  more  upon  cer- 
tain lacuna?  in  the  evidence,  and  the  absence  of 
all  marks  of  violence,  than  upon  any  hope  that 
Griffith  might  be  alive. 

The  assizes  drew  near,  and  no  fresh  light 
broke  in  upon  this  mysterious  case. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  lay  in  her  bed  at  night,  and 
thought,  and  thought. 

Now  the  female  understanding  has  sometimes 
remarkable  power  under  such  circumstances. 
By  degrees  Truth  flashes  across  it  like  lightning 
in  the  dark. ' 

After  many  such  nightly  meditations,  Mrs. 
Gaunt  sent  one  day  for  Sir  George  Neville  and 
Mr.  Houseman,  and  addressed  them  as  follows  : 
"I  believe  he  is  alive,  and  that  I  can  guess 
where  he  is  at  this  moment. " 

Both  the  gentlemen  started  and  looked 
amazed. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


113 


"Yes,  sirs ;  so  sure  as  we  sit  here,  he  is  now 
at  a  little  inn  in  Lancashire  called  the  'Pack- 
horse, 'with  a  woman  he  calls  his  wife."  And, 
with  this,  her  face  was  scarlet,  and  her  eyes 
flashed  their  old  fire. 

She  exacted  a  solemn  promise  of  secrecy  from 
them,  and  then  she  told  them  all  she  had  learn- 
ed from  Thomas  Leicester. 

'  *  And  so  now, "  said  she,  ' '  I  helieve  you  can 
save  my  life,  if  you  think  it  is  worth  saving." 
And  with  this  she  began  to  cry  bitterly. 

But  Houseman,  the  practical,  had  no  patience 
with  the  pangs  of  love  betrayed,  and  jealousy, 
and  such  small  deer,  in  a  client  whose  life  was 
at  stake. 

"Great  Heaven!  madam,"  said  he,  roughly, 
"  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before?" 

"Because  I  am  not  a  man — to  go  and  tell 
every  thing  all  at  once,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
"Besides,  I  wanted  to  shield  his  good  name, 
whose  dear  life  they  pretend  I  have  taken." 

As  soon  as  she  recovered  her  composure,  she 
begged  Sir  George  Neville  to  ride  to  the  ' '  Pack- 
horse"  for  her.  Sir  George  assented  eagerly, 
but  asked  how  he  was  to  find  it.  "I  have 
thought  of  that  too,"  said  she.  "His  black 
horse  has  been  to  and  fro.  Ride  that  horse  into 
Lancashire,  and  give  him  his  head  ;  ten  to  one 
but  he  takes  you  to  the  place,  or  where  you  may 
hear  of  it.  If  not,  go  to  Lancaster,  and  ask 
about  the  '  Packhorse. '  He  wrote  to  me  from 
Lancaster  —  see."  And  she  showed  him  the 
letter. 

Sir  George  embraced  with  ardor  this  opportu- 
nity of  serving  her.  "Ill  be  at  Hernshaw  in 
one  hour,"  said  he,  "and  ride  the  black  horse 
south  at  once. " 

"  Excuse  me,"  said  Houseman  ;  "but  would 
it  not  be  better  for  me  to  go  ?  As  a  lawyer,  I 
may  be  more  able  to  cope  with  her." 

"Nay,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  "Sir  George  is 
young  and  handsome ;  if  he  manages  well,  she 
will  tell  him  more  than  she  will  you.  All  I  beg 
of  him  is  to  drop  the  chevalier  for  this  once,  and 
see  women  with  a  Avoman's  eyes  and  not  a  man's 
— see  them  as  they  are.  Do  not  go  telling  a 
creature  of  this  kind  that  she  has  had  my  money 
as  well  as  my  husband,  and  ought  to  pity  me 
lying  here  in  prison.  Keep  me  out  of  her  sight 
as  much  as  you  can.  Whether  Griffith  hath  de- 
ceived her  or  not,  you  will  never  raise  in  her 
any  feeling  but  love  for  him,  and  hatred  for  his 
lawful  wife.  Dress  like  a  yeoman  ;  go  quietly, 
and  lodge  in  the  house  a  day  or  two ;  begin  by 
flattering  her,  and  then  get  from  her  when  she 
saw  him  last,  or  heard  from  him.  But,  indeed, 
I  fear  you  will  surprise  him  with  her." 

"  Fear?"  exclaimed  Sir  George. 

"Well,  hope,  then,"  said  the  lady,  and  a  tear 
trickled  down  her  face  in  a  moment.  "  But,  if 
you  do,  promise  me,  on  your  honor  as  a  gentle- 
,man,  not  to  affront  him,  for  I  know  you  think 
him  a  villain!" 

"A  d — d  villain!  saving  your  presence." 

"Well,  sir,  you  have  said  it  to  me.  Now 
promise  me  to  say  naught  to  him  but  just  this : 
'  Rose  Gaunt's  mother  she  lies  in  Carlisle  jail 
to  be  tried  for  her  life  for  murdering'  you.  She 
begs  of  you  not  to  let  her  die  publicly  upon  the 
scaffold,  but  quietly  at  home,  of  her  broken 
heart. ' " 

"Write  it,"  said  Sir  George,  with  the  tears  in 
H 


his  eyes,  "  that  I  may  just  put  it  in  his  hand,  for 
I  can  never  utter  your  sweet  words  to  such  a 
monster  as  he  is." 

Armed  with  this  appeal,  and  several  minute 
instructions,  which  it  is  needless  to  particular- 
ize here,  that  stanch  friend  rode  into  Lanca- 
shire. 

And  next  day  the  black  horse  justified  his 
mistress's  sagacity  and  his  own. 

He  seemed  all  along  to  know  where  he  was 
going,  and  late  in  the  afternoon  he  turned  off 
the  road  on  to  a  piece  of  green  ;  and  Sir  George, 
with  beating  heart,  saw  right  before  him  the  sign 
of  the  "  Packhorse,"  and,  on  coining  nearer,  the 
words 

' '  THOMAS  LEICESTER. " 

He  dismounted  at  the  door,  and  asked  if  he 
could  have  a  bed. 

Mrs.  Vint  said  yes ;  and  supper  into  the  bar- 
gain, if  he  liked. 

He  ordered  a  substantial  supper  directly. 

Mrs.  Vint  saw  at  once  it  was  a  good  customer, 
and  showed  him  into  the  parlor. 

He  sat  down  by  the  fire.  But,  the  moment 
she  retired,  he  got  up  and  made  a  circuit  of  the 
house,  looking  quietly  into  every  window,  to  see 
if  he  could  catch  a  glance  of  Griffith  Gaunt. 

There  were  no  signs  cf  him  ;  and  Sir  George 
returned  to  his  parlor  heavy-hearted.  One  hope, 
the  greatest  of  all,  had  been  defeated  directly. 
Still,  it  was  just  possible  that  Griffith  might  be 
away  on  temporary  business. 

In  this  faint  hope  Sir  George  strolled  about 
till  his  supper  was  ready  for  him. 

When  he  had  eaten  his  supper,  he  rang  the 
bell,  and,  taking  advantage  of'  a  common  cus- 
tom, insisted  on  the  landlord,  Thomas  Leicester, 
taking  a  glass  with  him. 

"Thomas  Leicester !"  said  the  girl.  "  He  is 
not  at  home.     But  I'll  send  Master  Vint." 

Old  Vint  came  in,  and  readily  accepted  an  in- 
vitation to  drink  his  guest's  health. 

Sir  George  found  him  loquacious,  and  soon 
extracted  from  him  that  his  daughter  Mercy  was 
Leicester's  wife ;  that  Leicester  was  gone  on  a 
journey,  and  that  Mercy  was  in  care  for  him. 
"Leastways,"  said  he,  "she  is  very  dull,  and 
cries  at  times  Avhen  her  mother  speaks  of  him  ; 
but  she  is  too  close  to  say  much." 

All  this  puzzled  Sir  George  Neville  sorely. 

But  greater  surprises  were  in  store. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  the  servant 
came  and  told  him  Dame  Leicester  desired  to  see 
him. 

He  started  at  that,  but  put  on  nonchalance, 
and  said  he  was  at  her  sendee. 

He  was  ushered  into  another  parlor,  and  there 
he  found  a  grave,  comely  young  woman,  seated 
working,  with  a  child  on  the  floor  beside  her. 
She  rose  quietly ;  he  bowed  low  and  respectful- 
ly ;  she  blushed  faintly,  but,  with  every  appear- 
ance of  self-possession,  courtesied  to  him,  then 
eyed  him  point-blank  a  single  moment,  and  re- 
quested him  to  be  seated. 

"I  hear,  sir,"  said  she,  "you  did  ask  my  fa- 
ther many  questions  last  night ;  may  I  ask  you 
one?" 

Sir  George  colored,  but  bowed  assent. 

"From  whom  had  you  the  black  horse  you 
ride  ?" 

Now,  if  Sir  George  had  not  been  a  veracious 


1H 


man,  he  would  have  been  caught  directly.  But, 
although  he  saw  at  once  the  oversight  he  had 
committed,  he  replied,  "  I  had  him  of  a  lady  in 
Cumberland — one  Mistress  Gaunt." 

Mercy  Vint  trembled. 

"No  doubt,"  said  she,  softly.  "Excuse  my 
question  ;  you  shall  understand  that  the  horse  is 
well  known  here. " 

"Madam,"  said  Sir  George,  "if  you  admire 
the  horse,  he  is  at  your  service  for  twenty  pounds, 
though  indeed  he  is  worth  more." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mercy,  "I  have  no 
desire  for  the  horse  whatever ;  and  be  pleased  to 
excuse  my  curiosity ;  you  must  think  me  imper- 
tinent." 

"Nay,  madam," said  Sir  George,  "I  consider 
nothing  impertinent  that  hath  procured  me  the 
pleasure  of  an  interview  with  you. " 

He  then,  as  directed  by  Mrs.  Gaunt,  proceeded 
to  flatter  the  mother  and  the  child,  and  exerted 
those  powers  of  pleasing  which  had  made  him  ir- 
resistible in  society. 

Here,  however,  he  found  they  went  a  very  lit- 
tle way.  Mercy  did  not  even  smile.  She  cast 
out  of  her  dove-like  eyes  a  gentle,  humble,  re- 
proachful glance,  as  much  as  to  say,  "What! 
do  I  seem  so  vain  a  creature  as  to  believe  all 
this? 

Sir  George  himself  had  tact  and  sensibility, 
and  by-and-by  became  discontented  with  the  part 
he  was  playing  under  those  meek,  honest  eyes. 

There  was  a  pause ;  and,  as  her  sex  have  a 
wonderful  art  of  reading  the  face,  Mercy  looked 
at  him  steadily,  and  said, ' '  Yes,  sir,  'tis  best  to  be 
straightforward,  especially  with  women-folk." 

Before  he  could  recover  this  little  facer,  she 
said,  quietly,  "  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"George  Neville." 

"Well,  George  Neville,"  said  Mercy,  very 
slowly  and  softly,  "when  you  have  a  mind  to  tell 
me  what  you  came  here  for,  and  who  sent  you, 
you  will  find  me  in  this  little  room.  I  seldom 
leave  it  now.  I  beg  you  to  speak  your  errand 
to  none  but  me. "  And  she  sighed  deeply. 
,  Sir  George  bowed  low,  and  retired  to  collect 
his  wits. 

He  had  come  here  strongly  prepossessed  against 
Mercy.  But,  instead  of  a  vulgar,  shallow  woman, 
whom  he  was  to  surprise  into  confession,  he  en- 
countered a  soft-eyed  Puritan,  all  unpretending 
dignity,  grace,  propriety,  and  sagacity. 

"Flatter  her!"  said  he  to  himself;  "I  might 
as  well  flatter  an  iceberg.  Outwit  her !  I  feel 
like  a  child  beside  her." 

He  strolled  about  in  a  brown  study,  not  know- 
ing what  to  do. 

She  had  given  him  a  fair  opening.  She  had 
invited  him  to  tell  the  truth.  But  he  was  afraid 
to  take  her  ather  word;  and  yet  what  was  the 
use  to  persist  in  what  his  own  eyes  told  him  was 
the  wrong  course  ? 

While  he  hesitated,  and  debated  within  him- 
self, a  trifling  incident  turned  the  scale. 

A  poor  woman  came  begging,  with  her  child, 
and  was  received  rather  roughly  by  Harry  Vint. 
"Pass  on,  good  woman,"  said  he  ;  "  we  want  no 
tramps  here. " 

Then  a  window  was  opened  on  the  ground  floor, 
and  Mercy  beckoned  the  woman.  Sir  George 
flattened  himself  against  the  wall,  and  listened 
to  the  two  talking. 

Mercy  examined  the  woman  gently,but  shrewd- 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


ly,  and  elicited  a  tale  of  genuine  distress.  Sir 
Geoi'ge  then  saw  her  hand  out  to  the  woman 
some  warm  flannel  for  herself,  a  piece  of  stuff  for 
the  child,  a  large  piece  of  bread,  and  a  sixpence. 

He  also  caught  sight  of  Mercy's  dove-like  eyes 
as  she  bestowed  her  alms,  and  they  were  lit  with 
an  inward  lustre. 

"She  can  not  be  an  ill  woman," thought  Sir 
George.  "I'll  e'en  go  by  my  own  eyes  and  judg- 
ment. After  all,  Mrs.  Gaunt  has  never  seen  her, 
and  I  have." 

He  went  and  knocked  at  Mercy's  door. 

"  Come  in,"  said  a  mild  voice. 

Neville  entered,  and  said,  abruptly,  and  with 
great  emotion,  "Madam,  I  see  you  can  feel  for 
the  unhappy,  so  I  take  my  own  way  now,  and 
appeal  to  your  pity.  I  have  come  to  speak  to 
you  on  the  saddest  business." 

"  You  come  from  him,"  said  Mercy,  closing  her 
lips  tight ;  but  her  bosom  heaved.  Her  heart 
and  her  judgment  grappled  like  wrestlers  that 
moment. 

"Nay,  madam,"  said  Sir  George,  "I  come 
from  her." 

Mercy  knew  in  a  moment  who  "  her"  must 
be. 

She  looked  scared,  and  drew  back  with  mani- 
fest signs  of  repulsion. 

The  movement  did  not  escape  Sir  George :  it 
alarmed  him.  He  remembered  what  Mrs.  Gaunt 
had  said — that  this  woman  would  be  sure  to  hate 
Gaunt's  lawful  wife.  But  it  was  too  late  to  go 
back.  He  did  the  next  best  thing — he  rushed 
on. 

He  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  Mercy 
Vint. 

"Oh,  madam!"  he  cried,  piteously,  "do  not 
set  your  heart  against  the  most  unhappy  lady  in 
England.  If  you  did  but  know  her — her  noble- 
ness, her  miseiy !  Before  you  steel  yourself 
against  me,  her  friend,  let  me  ask  you  one  ques- 
tion. Do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Gaunt  is  at  this 
moment  ?" 

Mercy  answered,  coldly,  "  How  should  I  know 
Avhere  the  lady  is  ?" 

"Well,  then,  she  lies  in  Carlisle  jail." 

"She — lies — in  Carlisle  jail?"  repeated  Mer- 
cy, looking  all  confused. 

"  They  accuse  her  of  murdering  her  husband." 

Mercy  uttered  a  scream,  and,  catching  her 
child  up  off  the  floor,  began  to  rock  hei'self  and 
moan  over  it. 

" No,  no,  no,"  cried  Sir  George,  "she  is  inno- 
cent— she  is  innocent. " 

"What  is  that  to  mef  cried  Mercy,  wildly. 
"He  is  murdered,  he  is  dead,  and  my  child  an 
orphan."  And  so  she  went  on  moaning  and 
rocking  herself. 

"But  I  tell  you  he  is  not  dead  at  all,"  cried 
Sir  George.  ' '  'Tis  all  a  mistake.  When  did  you 
see  him  last  ?" 

"More  than  six  weeks  ago." 

"  I  mean,  when  did  you  hear  from  him  last  ?*' 

"Never  since  that  day." 

Sir  George  groaned  aloud  at  this  intelligence. 

And  Mercy,  who  heard  him  groan,  was  heart- 
broken. She  accused  herself  of  Griffith's  death. 
"'Twas  I  who  drove  him  from  me,"  said  she. 
' '  'Twas  I  who  bade  him  go  back  to  his  lawful 
wife ;  and  the  wretch  hated  him.  I  sent  him  to 
his  death."  Her  grief  was  wild  and  deep;  she 
could  not  hear  Sir  George's  arguments. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


115 


But  presently  she  said,  sternly,  "What  does 
that  woman  say  for  herself?" 

"Madam,"  said  Sir  George,  dejectedly, 
"  Heaven  knows  you  are  in  no  condition  to 
fathom  a  mystery  that  hath  puzzled  wiser  heads 
than  yours  or  mine,  and  I  am  but  little  able  to 
lay  the  tale  before  you  fairly ;  for  your  grief  it 
moves  me  deeply,  and  I  could  curse  myself  for 
putting  the  matter  to  you  so  bluntly  and  un- 
couthly.  Permit  me  to  retire  a  while,  and  com- 
pose my  own  spirits  for  the  task  I  have  under- 
taken too  rashly." 

"Nay,  George  Neville,"  said  Mercy,  "stay 
you  there :  only  give  me  a  moment  to  draw  my 
breath." 

She  struggled  hard  for  a  little  composure,  and, 
after  a  shower  of  tears,  she  hung  her  head  over 
the  chair  like  a  crushed  thing,  but  made  him  a 
sign  of  attention. 

Sir  George  told  the  story  as  fairly  as  he  could, 
only,  of  course,  his  bias  was  in  favor  of  Mrs. 
Gaunt;  but  as  Mercy's  bias  was  against  her, 
this  brought  the  thing  nearly  square. 

When  he  came  to  the  finding  of  the  body, 
Mercy  was  seized  with  a  deadly  faintness  ;  and, 
though  she  did  not  become  insensible,  yet  she  was 
in  no  condition  to  judge  or  even  to  comprehend. 

Sir  George  was  moved  with  pity,  and  would 
have  called  for  help ;  but  she  shook  her  head. 
So  then  he  sprinkled  water  on  her  face,  and 
slapped  her  hand — and  a  beautifully  moulded 
hand  it  was. 

When  she  got  a  little  better  she  sobbed  faintly, 
and,  sobbing,  thanked  him,  and  begged  him  to 
go  on. 

"My  mind  is  stronger  than  my  heart,"  she 
said.  "I'll  hear  it  all,  though  it  kill  me  where 
I  sit." 

Sir  George  went  on,  and,  to  avoid  repetition, 
I  must  ask  the  reader  to  understand  that  he  left 
out  nothing  whatever  which  has  been  hitherto 
related  in  these  pages,  and,  in  fact,  told  her  one 
or  two  little  things  that  I  have  omitted. 

When  he  had  done,  she  sat  quite  still  a  minute 
or  two,  pale  as  a  statue. 

Then  she  turned  to  Neville,  and  said  solemnly, 
"  You  wish  to  know  the  truth  in  this  dark  matter, 
for  dark  it  is  in  very  sooth." 

Neville  was  much  impressed  by  her  manner, 
and  answered  respectfully,  Yes,  he  desired  to 
know — by  all  means. 

"Then  take  my  hand,"  said  Mercy,  "and 
kneel  down  with  me. " 

Sir  George  looked  surprised,  but  obeyed,  and 
kneeled  down  beside  her,  with  his  hand  in  hers. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  took  place  a 
transformation. 

The  dove-like  eyes  were  lifted  to  Heaven,  and 
gleamed  like  cpals  with  an  inward  and  celestial 
light ;  the  comely  face  shone  with  a  higher 
beauty,  and  the  rich  voice  rose  in  ardent  suppli- 
cation. 

"Thou  God,  to  whom  all  hearts  be  known,  and 
no  secrets  hid  from  thine  eye,  look  down  iioav  on 
thy  servant  in  sore  trouble,  that  putteth  her  trust 
in  thee.  Give  wisdom  to  the  simple  this  day, 
and  understanding  to  the  lowly.  Thou  that  didst 
reveal  to  babes  and  sucklings  the  great  things 
that  were  hidden  from  the  wise,  oh  show  us  the 
truth  in  this  dark  matter :  enlighten  us  by  thy 
Spirit,  for  his  dear  sake,  who  suffered  more  sor- 
rows than  I  suffer  now.     Amen,  Amen." 


Then  she  looked  at  Neville,  and  he  said 
"Amen"  with  all  his  heart,  and  the  tears  in  his 
eyes. 

He  had  never  heard  real  live  prayer  before. 
Here  the  little  hand  gripped  his  hard  as  she 
wrestled,  and  the  heart  seemed  to  rise  out  of  the 
bosom  and  fly  to  heaven  on  the  sublime  and 
thrilling  voice. 

They  rose,  and  she  sat  down,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  her  eyes,  once  raised  to  heaven  in  prayer, 
could  not  come  down  again :  they  remained 
fixed  and  angelic,  and  her  lips  still  moved  in 
supplication. 

fcir  George  Neville,  though  a  loose  liver,  was 
no  scoffer;  he  was  smitten  with  reverence  for 
this  inspired  countenance,  and  retired,  bowing 
low  and  obsequiously. 

He  took  a  long  walk  and  thought  it  all  over. 
One  thing  was  clear  and  consoling.  He  felt 
sure  he  had  done  wisely  to  disobey  Mrs.  Gaunt's 
instructions,  and  make  a  friend  of  Mercy,  instead 
of  trying  to  set  his  wits  against  hers.  Ere  he  re- 
turned to  the  "Packhorse,"  he  had  determined 
to  take  another  step  in  the  right  direction.  He 
did  not  like  to  agitate  her  with  another  interview 
so  soon,  but  he  wrote  her  a  little  letter. 

"Madam, — When  I  came  here  I  did  not  know 
you,  and  therefore  I  feared  to  trust  you  too  far. 
But,  now  I  do  know  you  for  the  best  woman  in 
England,  I  take  the  open  way  with  you. 

"Know  that  Mrs.  Gaunt  said  the  man  would 
be  here  with  you,  and  she  charged  me  with  a  few 
written  lines  to  him.  She  would  be  angry  if  she 
knew  that  I  had  shown  them  to  any  other.  Yet 
I  take  on  me  to  show  them  to  you,  for  I  believe 
you  are  wiser  than  any  of  us,  if  the  truth  were 
known.  I  do  therefore  entreat  you  to  read  these 
lines,  and  tell  me  whether  you  think  the  hand 
that  Avrote  them  can  have  shed  the  blood  of  him 
to  whom  they  are  writ. 

"I  am,  madam,  with  profound  respect,  your 
grateful  and  very  humble  servant, 

"  George  Neville." 

He  very  soon  received  a  line  in  reply,  written 
in  a  clear  and  beautiful  handwriting : 

"Mercy  Vint  sends  you  her  duty ;  and  she  will 
speak  to  you  at  nine  of  the  clock  to-morrow  morn- 
ing.    Pray  for  light. " 

At  the  appointed  time  Sir  George  found  her 
working  with  her  needle.  His  letter  lay  on  the 
table  before  her. 

She  rose  and  courtesied  to  him,  and  called  the 
servant  to  take  away  the  child  for  a  while.  She 
went  with  her  to  the  door,  and  kissed  the  bairn 
several  times  at  parting,  as  if  he  was  going  away 
for  good.  "  I'm  loth  to  let  him  go,"  said  she  to 
Neville;  "but  it  weakens  a  mother's  mind  to 
have  her  babe  in  the  room — takes  her  attention 
off  each  moment.  Pray  you  be  seated.  Well, 
sir,  I  have  read  those  lines  of  Mistress  Gaunt, 
and  wept  over  them.  Methinks  I  had  not  done 
so  were  they  cunningly  devised.  Also  I  lay  all 
night  and  thought." 

"That  is  just  what  she  does." 

' '  No  doubt,  sir ;  and  the  upshot  is,  I  don't  feel 
as  if  he  was  dead.     Thank  God." 

"That  is  something,"  said  Neville.     But  he 
could  not  help  thinking  it  was  very  little,  espe- 
'  cially  to  produce  in  a  court  of  justice. 
|      "And  now,"  said  she,  thoughtfully,  "  you  say 


116 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


that  the  real  Thomas  Leicester  was  seen  there- 
abouts as  well  as  my  Thomas  Leicester.  Then 
answer  me  one  little  question.  What  had  the 
real  Thomas  Leicester  on  his  feet  that  night  ?" 

"Nay,  I  know  not,  "was  the  half-careless  reply. 

"  Bethink  you.  ?Tis  a  question  that  mast 
have  been  often  put  in  your  hearing." 


" Madam,"  said  Sir  George,  "our  minds  were 
fixed  upon  the  fate  of  Gaunt.  Many  did  ask  how 
was  the  peddler  armed,  but  none  how  was  he  shod." 

"Hath  he  been  seen  since?" 

"  Not  he ;  and  that  hath  an  ugly  look  ;  for  the 
constables  are  out  after  him  with  hue  and  cry ; 
but  he  is  not  to  be  found." 


"  Begging  your  pardon,  it  was  never  put  at 
all ;  nor  do  I  see — " 

"  What,  not  at  the  inquest?" 

"No." 

"  That  is  very  strange.  What,  so  many  wise 
heads  have  bent  over  this  riddle,  and  not  one  to 
ask  how  was  yon  peddler  shod !" 


"Then," said  Mercy,  "I must  e'en  answer  my 
own  question.     I  do  know  how  that  peddler  was 

shod — WITH  HOBNAILED  SHOES." 

Sir  George  bounded  from  his  chair.  One  great 
ray  of  daylight  broke  in  upon  him. 

"  Ay,"  said  Mercy,  "  she  was  right.  Women 
do  see  clearer  in  some  things  than  men.     The 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


pair  went  from  my  house  to  hers :  he  you  call 
Griffith  Gaunt  had  on  a  new  pair  of  boots  ;  and, 
by  the  same  token,  'twas  I  did  pay  for  them,  and 
there  is  the  receipt  in  that  cupboard  :  he  you 
call  Thomas  Leicester  went  hence  in  hobnailed 
shoes.  I  think  the  body  they  found  was  the  body 
of  Thomas  Leicester  the  peddler.  May  God  have 
mercy  on  his  poor  unprepared  soul !" 

Sir  George  uttered  a  joyful  exclamation.  But 
the  next  moment  he  had  a  doubt:  "Ay,  but," 
said  he,  "you  forget  the  mole.  'Twas  on  that 
they  built." 

"  I  forget  naught,"  said  Mercy,  calmly.  "  The 
peddler  had  a  black  mole  over  his  left  temple. 
He  showed  it  me  in  this  very  room.  You  have 
found  the  body  of  Thomas  Leicester,  and  Griffith 
Gaunt  is  hiding  from  the  law  that  he  hath  bro- 
ken. He  is  afeared  of  her  and  her  friends  if  he 
shows  his  face  in  Cumberland ;  he  is  afeared  of 
my  folk  if  he  be  seen  in  Lancashire.  Ah !  Thom- 
as, as  if  I  would  let  them  harm  thee !" 

Sir  George  Neville  walked  to  and  fro  in  grand 
excitement. 

"  Oh,  blessed  day  that  I  came  hither.  Mad- 
am, you  are  an  angel.  You  will  save  an  inno- 
cent, broken-hearted  lady  from  death  and  dis- 
honor. Your  good  heart  and  rare  wit  have  read 
in  a  moment  the  dark  riddle  that  hath  puzzled  a 
county. " 

"George,"  said  Mercy,  gravely,  "you  have 
gotten  the  wrong  end  of  the  stick.  The  wise  in 
their  own  conceit  are  blinded ;  in  Cumberland, 
where  all  this  befell,  they  went  not  to  God  for 
light,  as  you  and  I  did,  George." 

In  saying  this  she  gave  him  her  hand  to  cele- 
brate their  success. 

He  kissed  it  devoutly,  and  owned  afterward 
that  it  was  the  proudest  moment  of  his  hTe,  when 
that  sweet  Puritan  gave  him  her  neat  hand  so 
cordially,  with  a  pressure  so  gentle,  yet  frank. 

And  now  came  the  question  how  they  were  to 
make  a  Cumberland  jury  see  this  matter  as  they 
saw  it. 

He  asked  her  would  she  come  to  the  trial  as  a 
witness  ? 

At  that  she  drew  back  with  manifest  repug- 
nance. 

"  My  shame  would  be  public.  I  must  tell  who 
I  am,  and  what — a  ruined  woman." 

"  Say  rather  an  injured  saint.  You  have  noth- 
ing to  be  ashamed  of.  All  good  men  would  feel 
for  you. " 

Mercy  shook  her  head.  "Ay, but  the  women  ; 
shame  is  shame  with  us ;  right  or  wrong  goes 
for  little.  Nay,  I  hope  to  do  better  for  you  than 
that.  I  must  find  him,  and  send  him  to  deliver 
her.     'Tis  his  only  chance  of  happiness. " 

She  then  asked  him  if  he  would  draw  up  an 
advertisement  of  quite  a  different  kind  from  those 
he  had  described  to  her. 

He  assented,  and  between  them  they  concocted 
the  following : 

"If  Thomas  Leicester,  who  went  from  the 
'  Packhorse'  two  months  ago,  will  come  thither 
at  once,  Mercy  will  be  much  beholden  to  him, 
and  tell  him  strange  things  that  have  befallen." 

Sir  George  then,  at  her  request,  rode  over  to 
Lancaster,  and  inserted  the  above  in  the  county 
paper,  and  also  in  a  small  sheet  that  was  issued 
in  the  city  three  times  a  week.  He  had  also 
\iaad-bills  to  the  came  effect  printed,  and  sent 


117 

into  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland.  Finally, 
he  sent  a  copy  to  his  man  of  business  in  London, 
with  orders  to  insert  it  in  all  the  journals. 

Then  he  returned  to  the  "Packhorse,"  and 
told  Mercy  what  he  had  done. 

The  next  day  he  bade  her  farewell,  and  away 
for  Carlisle.  It  was  a  two-days'  journey.  He 
reached  Carlisle  in  the  evening,  and  went  all 
glowing  to  Mrs.  Gaunt.  * '  Madam, "  said  he,  * '  be 
of  good  cheer.  I  bless  the  day  1  went  to  see  her ; 
she  is  an  angel  of  wit  and  goodness."  He  then 
related  to  her,  in  glowing  terms,  most  that  had 
passed  between  Mercy  and  him.  But,  to  his  sur- 
prise, Mrs.  Gaunt  wore  a  cold,  forbidding  air. 

"  This  is  all  very  well,"  said  she.  "  But  'twill 
avail  me  little  unless  he  comes  before  the  judge 
and  clears  me,  and  she  will  never  let  him  do 
that." 

"  Ay,  that  she  will — if  she  can  find  him." 

"  If  she  can  find  him  ?    How  simple  you  are." 

' '  Nay,  madam,  not  so  simple  but  I  can  tell  a 
good  woman  from  a  bad  one,  and  a  true  from  a 
false." 

"  What !  when  you  are  in  love  with  her  ?  Not 
if  you  were  the  wisest  of  your  sex. " 

"In  love  with  her?"  cried  Sir  George;  and 
colored  high. 

"  Ay,"  said  the  lady.  "Think  you  I  can  not 
tell?  Don't  deceive  yourself.  You  have  gone 
and  fallen  in  love  with  her.  At  your  years !  Not 
that  'tis  any  business  of  mine." 

"Well,  madam,"  said  Sir  George,  stiffiy,  "say 
what  you  please  on  that  score,  but  at  least  wel- 
come my  good  news." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  begged  him  to  excuse  her  petu- 
lance, and  thanked  him  kindly  for  all  he  had  just 
done.  But  the  next  moment  she  rose  from  her 
chair  in  great  agitation,  and  burst  out,  "I'd  as 
lieve  die  as  owe  any  thing  to  that  woman." 

Sir  George  remonstrated.  "  Why  hate  her? 
She  does  not  hate  you. " 

"Oh  yes  she  does.  'Tis  not  in  nature  she 
should  do  any  other." 

"  Her  acts  prove  the  contrary." 

"  Her  acts !  She  has  done  nothing  but  make 
fair  promises,  and  that  has  blinded  you.  Women 
of  this  sort  are  very  cunning,  and  never  show 
their  real  characters  to  a  man.  No  more ;  prithee 
mention  not  her  name  to  me.  It  makes  me  ill. 
I  know  he  is  with  her  at  this  moment.  Ah  !  let 
me  die  and  be  forgotten,  since  I.  am  no  more  be- 
loved. " 

The  voice  was  sad  and  weary  now,  and  the 
tears  ran  fast. 

Poor  Sir  George  was  moved  and  melted,  and 
set  himself  to  flatter  and  console  this  impractica- 
ble lady,  who  hated  her  best  friend  in  this  sore 
strait  for  being  what  she  was  herself — a  woman, 
and  was  much  less  annoyed  at  being  hanged  than 
at  not  being  loved. 

When  she  was  a  little  calmer  he  left  her  and 
rode  off  to  Houseman.  That  worthy  was  de- 
lighted. "  Get  her  to  swear  to  those  hobnailed 
shoes,"  said  he,  "  and  we  shall  shake  them."  He 
then  let  Sir  George  know  that  he  had  obtained 
private  information,  which  he  would  use  in  cross- 
examining  a  principal  witness  for  the  crown. 
"However,"  he  added,  "do  not  deceive  yourself; 
nothing  can  make  the  prisoner  really  safe  but  the 
appearance  of  Griffith  Gaunt;  he  has  such  strong 
motives  for  coming  to  light ;  he  is  heir  to  a  for- 
tune, and  his  wife  is  accused  of  murdering  him. 


118 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


The  jury  will  never  believe  he  is  alive  till  they 
see  him.  That  man's  prolonged  disappearance 
is  hideous.  It  turns  my  blood  cold  when  I  think 
of  it." 

"Do  not  despair  on  that  score,"  said  Neville. 
"  I  believe  our  good  angel  will  produce  him." 

Three  days  only  before  the  assizes  came  the 
long-expected  letter  from  Mercy  Vint.  Sir 
George  tore  it  open,  but  bitter  was  his  disap- 
pointment. The  letter  merely  said  that  Griffith 
had  not  appeared  in  answer  to  her  advertise- 
ments, and  she  was  sore  grieved  and  perplexed. 

There  were  two  postscripts,  each  a  little  piece 
of  paper. 

First  postscript,  in  a  tremulous  hand,  "  Pray." 
Second  postscript,  in  a  firm  hand,  "Drain  that 
water. " 

Houseman  shrugged  his  shoulders  impatiently. 
"  Drain  the  mere  ?  Let  the  crown  do  that.  We 
should  but  fish  up  more  trouble.  And  prayer, 
quo'  she!  'Tis  not  prayers  we  want,  but  evi- 
dence." 

He  sent  his  clerk  off  to  travel  post  night  and 
day,  and  subpoena  Mercy,  and  bring  her  back 
with  him  to  the  trial.  She  was  to  have  every 
comfort  on  the  road,  and  be  treated  like  a 
duchess. 

The  evening  before  the  assizes,  Mrs.  Gaunt's 
apartments  were  Mr.  Houseman's  head-quar- 
ters, and  messages  were  coming  and  going  all 
day  on  matters  connected  with  the  defense. 

Just  at  sunset  up  rattled  a  post-chaise,  and  the 
clerk  got  out  and  came  haggard  and  bloodshot 
before  his  employer. 

"The  witness  has  disappeared,  sir.  Left 
home  last  Tuesday,  with  her  child,  and  has 
never  been  seen  nor  heard  of  since. " 

Here  was  a  terrible  blow.  They  all  paled  un- 
der it ;  it  seriously  diminished  the  chances  of  an 
acquittal. 

But  Mrs.  Gaunt  bore  it  nobly.  She  seemed 
to  rise  under  it. 

She  turned  to  Sir  George  Neville  with  a  sweet 
smile.  "  The  noble  heart  sees  base  things  noble. 
No  wonder,  then,  that  an  artful  woman  deluded 
you.  He  has  left  England  with  her,  and  con- 
demned me  to  the  gallows — in  cold  blood.  So 
be  it.     I  shall  defend  myself. " 

She  then  sat  down  with  Mr.  Houseman,  and 
went  through  the  written  case  he  had  prepared 
for  her,  and  showed  him  notes  she  had  taken  of 
full  a  hundred  criminal  trials,  great  and  small. 

While  they  were  putting  their  heads  together, 
Sir  George  sat  in  a  brown  study,  and  uttered  not 
a  word.  Presently  he  got  up  a  little  brusquely, 
and  said,  "I'm  going  to  Hernshaw." 

"What!  at  this  time  of  night  ?    What  to  do?" 

"  To  obey  my  orders.     To  drain  the  mere."  > 

"And  who  could  have  ordered  you  to  drain 
my  mere  ?" 

""  Mercy  Vint." 

Sir  George  uttered  this  in  a  very  curious  way, 
half  ashamed,  half  resolute,  and  retired  before 
Mrs.  Gaunt  could  vent  in  speech  the  surprise 
and  indignation  that  fired  her  eye. 

Houseman  implored  her  not  to  heed  Sir 
George  and  his  vagaries,  but  to  bend  her  whole 
mind  on  those  approved  modes  of  defense  with 
which  he  had  supplied  her. 

Being  now  alone  with  her,  he  no  longer  con- 
cealed his  great  anxiety. 


"We  have  lost  an  invaluable  witness  in  that 
woman,"  said  he.  "I  was  mad  to  think  she 
would  come." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  shivered  with  repugnance.  "I 
would  not  have  her  come  for  all  the  world,"  said 
she.  "For  Heaven's  sake,  never  mention  her 
name  to  me.  I  want  help  from  none  but  friends. 
Send  Mrs.  Houseman  to  me  in  the  morning,  and 
do  not  distress  yourself  so.  I  shall  defend  my- 
self far  better  than  you  think.  I  have  not  stud- 
ied a  hundred  trials  for  naught." 

Thus  the  prisoner  cheered  up  her  attorney, 
and  soon  after  insisted  on  his  going  home  to 
bed,  for  she  saw  he  was  worn  out  by  his  exer- 
tions. 

And  now  she  was  alone. 

All  was  silent. 

A  few  short  hours,  and  she  was  to  be  tried  for 
her  life — tried,  not  by  the  All-wise  Judge,  but  by 
fallible  men,  and  under  a  system  most  unfavor- 
able to  the  accused. 

Worse  than  all  this,  she  was  a  Papist ;  and, 
as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  since  her  imprison- 
ment an  alarm  was  raised  that  the  Pretender 
meditated  another  invasion.  This  report  had 
set  juries  very  much  against  all  the  Romanists 
in  the  country,  and  had  already  perverted  justice 
in  one  or  two  cases,  especially  in  the  North. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  knew  all  this,  and  trembled  at  the 
peril  to  come. 

She  spent  the  early  part  of  the  night  in  study- 
ing her  defense.  Then  she  laid  it  quite  aside, 
and  prayed  long  and  fervently. 

Toward  morning  she  fell  asleep  from  exhaus- 
tion. 

When  she  awoke,  Mrs.  Houseman  was  sitting 
by  her  bedside,  looking  at  her,  and  crying. 

They  .were  soon  clasped  in  each  other's  arms, 
condoling. 

But  presently  Houseman  came,  and  took  his 
wife  away  rather  angrily. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  prevailed  on  to  eat  a  little 
toast  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine,  and  then  she  sat 
waiting  her  dreadful  summons. 

She  waited  and  waited,  until  she  became  im- 
patient to  face  her  danger. 

But  there  were  two  petty  larcenies  on  before 
her.     She  had  to  wait. 

At  last,  about  noon,  came  a  message  to  say 
that  the  grand  jury  had  found  a  true  bill  against 
her. 

"Then  may  God  forgive  them!"  said  she. 

Soon  afterward  she  was  informed  her  time 
drew  very  near. 

She  made  her  toilet,  carefully,  and  passed  with 
her  attendant  into  a  small  room  under  the  court. 

Here  she  had  to  endure  another  chilling  wait, 
and  in  a  sombre  room. 

Presently  she  heard  a  voice  above  her  cry  out, 
"The  King  versus  Catharine  Gaunt." 

Then  she  was  beckoned  to. 

She  mounted  some  steps,  badly  lighted,  and 
found  herself  in  the  glare  of  day,  and  greedy 
eyes,  in  the  felon's  dock. 

In  a  matter  entirely  strange,  Ave  seldom  know 
beforehand  what  we  can  do,  and  how  we  shall 
carry  ourselves.  Mrs.  Gaunt  no  sooner  set  her 
foot  in  that  dock,  and  saw  the  awful  front  of 
Justice  face  to  face,  than  her  tremors  abated, 
and  all  her  powers  awoke,  and  she  thrilled  with 
love  of  life,  and  bristled  with  all  those  fine  arts 
of  defense  that  nature  lends  to  superior  women. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


119 


She  entered  on  that  defense  before  she  spoke 
a  word,  for  she  attacked  the  prejudices  of  the 
court  by  deportment. 

She  courtesied  reverently  to  the  judge,  and 
contrived  to  make  her  reverence  seem  a  willing 
homage,  unmixed  with  fear. 

She  cast  her  eyes  round,  and  saw  the  court 
thronged  with  ladies  and  gentlemen  she  knew. 
In  a  moment  she  read  in  their  faces  that  only 
two  or  three  were  on  her  side.  She  bowed  to 
those  only,  and  they  returned  her  courtesy.  This 
gave  an  impression  (a  false  one)  that  the  gentry 
sympathized  with  her. 

After  a  little  murmur  of  functionaries,  the 
Clerk  of  Arraigns  turned  to  the  prisoner,  and 
said,  in  a  loud  voice, "  Catharine  Gaunt,  hold  up 
thy  hand." 

She  held  up  her  hand,  and  he  recited  the  in- 
dictment, which  charged  that,  not  having  the 
fear  of  God  before  her  eyes,  but  being  moved  by 
the  instigation  of  the  devil,  she  had,  on  the  fif- 
teenth of  October,  in  the  tenth  year  of  the  reign 
of  his  present  majesty,  aided  and  abetted  one 
Thomas  Leicester  in  an  assault  upon  one  Griffith 
Gaunt,  Esq.,  and  him,  the  said  Griffith  Gaunt, 
did  with  force  and  arms  assassinate  and  do  to 
death,  against  the  peace  of  our  said  lord  the 
king,  his  crown  and  dignity. 

After  reading  the  indictment,  the  Clerk  of 
Arraigns  turned  to  the  prisoner,  "How  say  est 
thou,  Catharine  Gaunt,  art  thou  guilty  of  the  fel- 
ony and  murder  whereof  thou  standest  indicted 
— or  not  guilty?" 

"I  am  not  guilty." 

"  Culprit,  how  wilt  thou  be  tried?" 

' '  Culprit  I  am  none,  but  only  accused :  I  will 
be  tried  by  God  and  my  country." 

"  God  send  thee  a  good  deliverance." 

Mr.  Whitworth,  the  junior  counsel  for  the 
crown,  then  rose  to  open  the  case ;  but  the  pris- 
oner, with  a  pale  face,  but  most  courteous  de- 
meanor, begged  his  leave  to  make  a  previous  mo- 
tion to  the  court.  Mr.  Whitworth  bowed  and 
sat  down.  "  My  lord, "  said  she, ' '  I  have  first  a 
favor  to  ask,  and  that  favor,  methinks,  you  will 
grant,  since  it  is  but  justice — impartial  justice. 
My  accuser,  I  hear,  has  two  counsel,  both  learned 
and  able.  I  am  but  a  woman,  and  no  match  for 
their  skill ;  therefore  I  beg  your  lordship  to  al- 
low me  counsel  on  my  defense,  to  matter  of  fact 
as  well  as  of  law.  I  know  this  is  not  usual,  but 
it  is  just ;  and  I  am  informed  it  has  sometimes 
been  granted  in  trials  of  life  and  death,  and  that 
your  lordship  hath  the  poicer,  if  you  have  the 
will,  to  do  me  so  much  justice." 

The  judge  looked  toward  Mr.  Sergeant  Wilt- 
shire, who  was  the  leader  on  the  other  side.  He 
rose  instantly  and  replied  to  this  purpose :  "  The 
prisoner  is  misinformed.  The  truth  is,  that  from 
time  immemorial,  and  down  to  the  other  day,  a 
person  indicted  for  a  capital  offense  was  never 
allowed  counsel  at  all,  except  to  matters  of  law, 
and  these  must  be  started  by  himself.  By  re- 
cent practice,  the  rule  hath  been  so  far  relaxed 
that  counsel  have  sometimes  been  permitted  to 
examine  and  crossTexamine  witnesses  for  a  pris- 
oner, but  never  to  make  observations  on  the  evi- 
dence, nor  to  draw  inferences  from  it  to  the  point 
in  issue." 

Mrs.  Gaunt.  So,  then,  if  I  be  sued  for  a  small 
sum  of  money,  I  may  have  skilled  orators  to  de- 
fend me  against  their  like,  but  if  I  be  sued  for 


my  life  and  honor,  I  may  not  oppose  skill  to 
skill,  but  must  stand  here  a  child  against  you 
that  are  masters.  'Tis  a  monstrous  iniquity,  and 
you  yourself,  sir,  will  not  deny  it. 

Serr/t.  Wiltshire.  Madam,  permit  me :  wheth- 
er it  be  a  hardship  to  deny  full  counsel  to  pris- 
oners in  criminal  cases,  I  shall  not  pretend  to 
say ;  but  if  it  be,  'tis  a  hardship  of  the  law's  mak- 
ing, and  not  of  mine,  nor  of  my  lord's,  and  none 
have  suffered  by  it  (at  least  in  our  day)  but  those 
who  had  broken  the  law. 

The  sergeant  then  stopped  a  minute  and  whis- 
pered with  his  junior,  after  which  he  turned  to 
the  judge  :  ' '  My  lord,  we,  that  are  of  counsel  for 
the  crown,  desire  to  do  nothing  that  is  hard  where 
a  person's  life  is  at  stake.  We  yield  to  the  pris- 
oner any  indulgence  for  which  your  lordship  can 
find  a  precedent  in  your  reading,  but  no  more  ; 
and  so  we  leave  the  matter  to  you." 

The  Clerk  of  Arraigns.  Crier,  proclaim  silence. 

The  Crier.  Oyez !  Oyez !  Oyez  !  His  majes- 
ty's justices  do  straitly  charge  all  manner  of  per- 
sons to  keep  silence  on  pain  of  imprisonment. 

The  Judge.  Prisoner,  what  my  brother  Wilt- 
shire says,  the  law  is  clear  in :  there  is  no  prece- 
dent for  what  you  ask,  and  the  contrary  practice 
stares  us  in  the  face  for  centuries.  What  seems 
to  you  a  partial  practice,  and,  to  be  frank,  some 
learned  persons  are  of  your  mind,  must  be  set 
against  this,  that  in  capital  cases  the  burden  of 
proof  lies  on  the  crown  and  not  on  the  accused. 
Also  it  is  my  duty  to  give  you  all  the  assistance 
I  can,  and  that  I  shall  do.  Thus  then  it  is :  you 
can  be  allowed  counsel  to  examine  your  own  wit- 
nesses, and  cross-examine  the  witnesses  for  the 
crown,  and  speak  to  points  of  law,  to  be  started 
by  yourself,  but  no  farther. 

He  then  asked  her  what  gentleman  there  pres- 
ent he  should  assign  to  her  for  counsel. 

Her  reply  to  this  inquiry  took  the  whole  court 
by  surprise,  and  made  her  solicitor,  Houseman, 
very  miserable.  "None,  my  lord,"  said  she. 
"  Half  justice  is  injustice,  and  I  will  lend  it  no 
color.  I  will  net  set  able  men  to  fight  for  me 
with  their  hands  tied,  against  men  as  able  whose 
hands  be  free.  Counsel,  on  terms  so  partial,  I 
will  have  none.  My  counsel  shall  be  three,  and 
no  more — yourself,  my  lord — my  innocence — 
and  the  Lord  God  Omniscient." 

These  words,  grandly  uttered,  caused  a  dead 
silence  in  the  court,  but  only  for  a  few  moments. 
It  was  broken  by  the  loud  mechanical  voice  of 
the  crier,  who  proclaimed  silence,  and  then  called 
the  names  of  the  jury  that  were  to  try  this  cause. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  listened  keenly  to  the  names — 
familiar  and  bourgeois  names,  that  now  seemed 
regal,  for  they  who  owned  them  held  her  life  in 
their  hands. 

Each  juryman  was  sworn  in  the  grand  old  form, 
now  slightly  curtailed. 

"  Joseph  King,  look  upon  the  prisoner.  You 
shall  well  and  truly  try,  and  true  deliverance 
make,  between  our  sovereign  lord  the  king  and 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  whom  you  shall  have  in 
charge,  and  a  true  verdict  give,  according  to  the 
evidence.     So  help  you  God. " 

Mr.  Whitworth,  for  the  crown,  then  opened 
the  case,  but  did  little  more  than  translate  the 
indictment  into  more  rational  language. 

He  sat  down,  and  Sergeant  Wiltshire  address- 
ed the  court  somewhat  after  this  fashion  : 

"May  it  please  your  lordship,  and  you,  gen- 


120 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


tlemen  of  the  jury,  this  is  a  case  of  great  expect- 
ation and  importance.  The  prisoner  at  the  bar, 
a  gentlewoman  by  birth  and  education,  and,  as 
you  must  have  already  perceived,  by  breeding 
also,  stands  indicted  for  no  less  a  crime  than 
murder. 

"I  need  not  paint  to  you  the  heinousness  of 
this  crime :  you  have  but  to  consult  your  own 
breasts.  Who  ever  saw  the  ghastly  corpse  of 
the  victim  weltering  in  its  blood,  and  did  not  feel 
his  own  blood  run  cold  through  his  veins?  Has 
the  murderer  fled  ?  With  what  eagerness  do  we 
pursue !  with  what  zeal  apprehend !  with  what 
joy  do  we  bring  him  to  justice !  Even  the  dread- 
ful sentence  of  death  does  not  shock  us  when  pro- 
nounced upon  him  ;  we  hear  it  with  solemn  sat- 
isfaction, and  acknowledge  the  justice  of  the  di- 
vine sentence, '  Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by 
man  shall  his  blood  be  shed.' 

"But,  if  this  be  the  case  in  every  common 
murder,,  what  shall  be  thought  of  her  who  has 
murdered  her  husband  ?  the  man  in  whose  arms 
she  has  lain,  and  whom  she  has  sworn  at  God's 
altar  to  love  and  cherish.  Such  a  murderer  is  a 
robber  as  well  as  an  assassin ;  for  she  robs  her 
own  children  of  their  father,  that  tender  parent 
who  can  never  be  replaced  in  this  world. 

"  Gentlemen,  it  will,  I  fear,  be  proved  that  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar  hath  been  guilty  of  murder  in 
this  high  degree;  and,  though  I  will  endeavor 
rather  to  extenuate  than  to  aggravate,  yet  I  trust 
(sic)  I  have  such  a  history  to  open  as  will  shock 
the  ears  of  all  who  hear  me. 

"Mr. Griffith  Gaunt, the  unfortunate  deceased, 
was  a  man  of  descent  and  worship.  As  to  his 
character,  it  was  inoffensive ;  he  was  known  as  a 
worthy,  kindly  gentleman,  deeply  attached  to  her 
who  now  stands  accused  of  his  murder.  They 
lived  happily  together  for  some  years ;  but,  un- 
fortunately, there  was  a  thorn  in  the  rose  of  their 
wedded  life ;  he  was  of  the  Church  of  England  ; 
.-lie  was,  and  is,  a  Roman  Catholic.  This  led  to 
disputes  ;  and  no  wonder,  since  the  same  unhap- 
py difference  hath  more  than  once  embroiled  a 
nation,  let  alone  a  single  family. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  about  a  year  ago  there  was 
a  more  violent  quarrel  than  usual  between  the 
deceased  and  the  prisoner  at  the  bar,  and  the  de- 
ceased left  his  home  for  several  months. 

"  He  returned  upon  a  certain  day  in  this  year, 
and  a  reconciliation,  real  or  apparent,  took  place. 
He  left  home  again  soon  afterward,  but  only  for 
a  short  period.  On  the  1 5th  of  last  October  he 
suddenly  returned  for  good,  as  he  intended  ;  and 
here  begins  the  tragedy,  to  which  what  I  have 
hitherto  related  was  but  the  prologue. 

"Scarce  an  hour  before  he  came,  one  Thomas 
Leicester  entered  the  house.  Now  this  Thomas 
Leicester  was  a  creature  of  the  prisoner's.  He 
had  been  her  gamekeeper,  and  was  now  a  ped- 
dler. It  was  the  prisoner  who  set  him  up  as  a 
peddler,  and  purchased  the  wares  to  start  him  in 
his  trade. 

"  Gentlemen,  this  peddler,  as  I  shall  prove, 
was  concealed  in  the  house  when  the  deceased 
arrived.  One  Caroline  Ryder,  who  is  the  pris- 
oner's gentlewoman,  was  the  person  who  first  in- 
formed her  of  Leicester's  arrival,  and  it  seems 
she  was  much  moved ;  Mrs.  Ryder  will  tell  you 
she  fell  into  hysterics.  But,  soon  after,  her  hus- 
band's arrival  was  announced,  and  then  the  pas- 
sion was  of  a  very  different  kind.     So  violent 


was  her  rage  against  this  unhappy  man  that,  for 
once,  she  forgot  all  prudence,  and'  threatened  his 
life  before  a  witness.  Yes,  gentlemen,  we  shall 
prove  that  this  gentlewoman,  who  in  appearance 
and  manners  might  grace  a  court,  was  so  trans- 
ported out  of  her  usual  self  that  she  held  up  a 
j  knife — a  knife,  gentlemen,  and  vowed  to  put  it 
'  into  her  husband's  heart.  And  this  was  no  mere 
temporary  ebullition  of  wrath  ;  we  shall  see  pres- 
ently that,  long  after  she  had  time  to  cool,  she 
repeated  this  menace  to  the  unfortunate  man's 
face.  The  first  threat,  however,  was  uttered  in 
her  own  bedroom,  before  her  confidential  servant, 
Caroline  Ryder  aforesaid.  But  now  the  scene 
shifts.  She  has,  to  all  appearance,  recovered  her- 
self,  and  sits  smiling  at  the  head  of  her  table ; 
for,  you  must  know,  she  entertained  company 
that  night,  persons  of  the  highest  standing  in  the 
county. 

"  Presently  her  husband,  all  unconscious  of 
the  terrible  sentiments  she  entertained  toward 
him,  and  the  fearful  purpose  she  had  announced, 
enters  the  room,  makes  obeisance  to  his  guests, 
and  goes  to  take  his  wife's  hand. 

"What  does  she?  She  draws  back  with  so 
strange  a  look  and  such  forbidding  words  that 
the  company  Avere  disconcerted.  Consternation 
fell  on  all  present ;  and,  ere  long,  they  made  their 
excuses  and  left  the  house.  Tims  the  prisoner 
was  left  alone  with  her  husband.  But,  mean- 
time, curiosity  had  been  excited  by  her  strange 
conduct,  and  some  of  the  servants,  with  forebod- 
ing hearts,  listened  at  the  door  of  the  dining- 
room.  What  did  they  hear,  gentlemen  ?  A  fu- 
rious quarrel,  in  which,  however,  the  deceased 
was  comparatively  passive,  and  the  prisoner  again 
threatened  his  life  with  vehemence.  Her  pas- 
sion, it  is  clear,  had  not  cooled. 

"  Now  it  may  fairly  be  alleged  on  behalf  of  the 
prisoner  that  the  witnesses  for  the  crown  were  on 
one  side  of  the  door,  the  prisoner  and  the  deceased 
on  the  other,  and  that  such  evidence  should  be 
received  with  caution.  I  grant  this,  where  it  is 
not  sustained  by  other  circumstances  or  by  di- 
rect proofs.  Let  us,  then,  give  the  prisoner  the 
benefit  of  this  doubt,  and  let  us  inquire  how  the 
deceased  himself  understood  her ;  he  Avho  not 
only  heard  the  words  and  the  accents,  but  saw 
the  looks,  whatever  they  were,  that  accompanied 
them. 

"  Gentlemen,  he  was  a  man  of  known  courage 
and  resolution,  yet  he  was  found  after  this  terri- 
ble interview  much  cowed  and  dejected.  He 
spoke  to  Mrs.  Ryder  of  his  death  as  an  event  not 
far  distant,  and  so  went  to  his  bedroom  in  a  mel- 
ancholy and  foreboding  state  :  and  where  was 
that  bedroom  ?  He  Avas  thrust  by  his  wife's  or- 
ders into  a  small  chamber,  and  not  allowed  to 
enter  hers  ;  he,  the  master  of  the  house,  her  hus- 
band and  her  lord. 

"  But  his  interpretation  of  the  prisoner's  words 
did  not  end  there.  He  left  us  a  farther  comment 
by  his  actions  next  ensuing.  He  dared  not  (I 
beg  pardon,  this  is  my  inference;  receive  it  as 
such),  he  did  not  remain  in  that  house  a  single 
night.  He  bolted  his  chamber-door  inside ;  and 
in  the  dead  of  night,  notwithstanding  the  fatigues 
of  the  day's  journey  (for  he  had  ridden  some  dis- 
tance), he  let  himself  out  by  the  window,  and 
reached  the  ground  safely,  though  it  was  a  height 
of  fourteen  feet ;  a  leap,  gentlemen,  that  few  of 
us  would  venture  to  take.     But  what  will  not 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


121 


men  risk  when  destruction  is  at  their  heels  ?  He 
did  not  wait  even  to  saddle  his  horse,  but  fled  on 
foot.  Unhappy  man,  he  fled  from  danger  and 
met  his  death. 

"From  the  hour  when  he  went  up  to  bed  none 
of  the  inmates  of  tbe  house  ever  saw  Griffith 
Gaunt  alive  ;  but  one  Thomas  Hayes,  a  laborer, 
saw  him  walking  in  a  certain  direction  at  one 
o'clock  that  morning,  and  behind  him,  gentlemen, 
there  walked  another  man. 

"  Who  was  that  other  man  ? 

"  When  I  have  told  you  (and  this  is  an  essen- 
tial feature  of  the  case)  how  the  prisoner  was 
employed  during  the  time  that* her  husband  lay 
quaking  in  bis  little  room,  waiting  an  opportuni- 
ty to  escape — when  I  tell  you  this,  I  fear  you  will 
divine  who  it  was  that  followed  the  deceased,  and 
for  what  purpose. 

"  Gentlemen,  when  the  prisoner  had  threaten- 
ed her  husband  in  person,  as  I  have  described, 
she  retired  to  her  own  room,  but  not  to  sleep.  She 
ordered  her  maid,  Mrs.  Ryder,  to  bring  Thomas 
Leicester  to  her  chamber.  Yes,  gentlemen,  she 
received  this  peddler  at  midnight  in  her  bed- 
chamber. 

"Now  an  act  so  strange  as  this  admits,  I 
think,  of  but  two  interpretations.  Either  she 
had  a  guilty  amour  with  this  fellow,  or  she  had 
some  extraordinary  need  of  his  services.  Her 
whole  character,  by  consent  of  the  witnesses, 
renders  it  very  improbable  that  she  would  de- 
scend to  a  low  amour.  Moreover,  she  acted  too 
publicly  in  the  matter.  The  man,  as  we  know, 
was  her  tool — her  creature :  she  had  bought  his 
wares  for  him,  and  set  him  up  as  a  peddler.  She 
openly  summoned  him  to  her  presence,  and  kept 
him  there  about  half  an  hour. 

"Fie  went  from  her,  and  very  soon  after  is 
seen  by  Thomas  Hayes  following  Griffith  Gaunt 
— at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning — that  Griffith 
Gaunt,  who,  after  that  hour,  was  never  seen 
alive. 

"Gentlemen,  up  to  this  point  the  evidence  is 
clear,  connected,  and  cogent ;  but  it  rarely  hap- 
pens in  cases  of  murder  that  any  human  eye  sees 
the  very  blow  struck.  The  penalty  is  too  severe 
for  such  an  act  to  be  done  in  the  presence  of  an 
eye-witness  ;  and  not  one  murderer  in  ten  could 
be  convicted  without  the  help  of  circumstantial 
evidence. 

"The  next  link,  however,  is  taken  up  by  an 
ear-witness,  and,  in  some  cases,  the  ear  is  even 
better  than  the  eye ;  for  instance,  as  to  the  dis- 
charge of  fire-arms ;  for,  by  the  eye  alone,  we 
could  not  positively  tell  whether  a  pistol  had  gone 
off  or  had  but  flashed  in  the  pan.  Well,  then, 
gentlemen,  a  few  minutes  after  Mr.  Gaunt  was 
last  seen  alive,  which  was  by  Thomas  Hayes, 
Mrs.  Ryder,  who  had  retired  to  her  room,  heard 
the  said  Gaunt  distinctly  cry  for  help ;  she  also 
heard  a  pistol-shot  discharged.  This  took  place 
by  the  side  of  a  lake  or  large  pond  near  the 
house,  called  •  the  mere.'  Mrs.  Ryder  alarmed 
the  house,  and  she  and  the  other  servants  pro- 
ceeded to  her  master's  room  :  they  found  it  bolt- 
ed from  the  inside.  They  broke  it  open.  Mr. 
Gaunt  had  escaped  by  the  window,  as  I  have  al- 
ready told  you. 

"Presently  in  comes  the  prisoner  from  out  of 
doors.  This  is  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Now  she  appears  to  have  seen  at  once  that  she 
must  explain  her  being  abroad  at  that  time,  so 


she  told  Mrs.  Ryder  that  she  had  been  out — 
praying." 

(Here  some  people  laughed  harshly,  but  were 
threatened  severely,  and  silenced.) 

' '  Is  that  credible  ?  Ho  people  go  out  of  doors 
at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  to  pray  ?  Nay ; 
but  I  fear  it  was  to  do  an  act  that  years  of  prayer 
and  penitence  can  not  efface. 

' '  From  that  moment  Mr.  Gaunt  was  seen  no 
more  among  living  men.  And  what  made  his 
disappearance  the  more  mysterious  was  that  he 
had  actually  at  this  time  just  inherited  largely 
from  his  namesake,  Mr.  Gaunt  of  Coggleswade, 
and  his  own  interest,  and  that  of  the  other  lega- 
tees, required  his  immediate  presence.  Mr.  At- 
kins, the  testator's  solicitor,  advertised  for  this 
unfortunate  gentleman,  but  he  did  not  appear  to 
claim  his  fortune.  Then  plain  men  began  to  put 
this  and  that  together,  and  cried  out '  foul  play !' 

"Justice  was  set  in  motion  at  last,  but  embar- 
rassed by  the  circumstance  that  the  body  of  the 
deceased  could  not  be  found. 

"At  last  Mr.  Atkins,  the  solicitor,  being  unable 
to  get  the  estate  I  have  mentioned  administered 
for  want  of  proof  of  Griffith  Gaunt's  decease, 
entered  heartily  into  this  affair  on  mere  civil 
grounds.  He  asked  the  prisoner,  before  several 
witnesses,  if  she  would  permit  him  to  drag  that 
piece  of  water  by  the  side  of  which  Mr.  Gaunt 
was  heard  to  cry  for  help,  and,  after  that,  seen 
no  more. 

"  The  prisoner  did  not  reply ;  but  Mr.  House- 
man, her  solicitor,  a  very  worthy  man,  who  has, 
I  believe,  or  had  up  to  that  moment,  a  sincere 
conviction  of  her  innocence,  answered  for  her, 
and  told  Mr.  Atkins  he  Avas  welcome  to  drag  or 
drain  it.  Then  the  prisoner  said  nothing.  She 
fainted,  away. 

"After  this,  you  may  imagine  with  what  ex- 
pectation the  water  was  dragged.  Gentlemen, 
after  hours  of  fruitless  labor,  a  body  was  found. 

"But  here  an  unforeseen  circumstance  be- 
friended the  prisoner.  It  seems  that  piece  of 
water  swarms  with  enormous  pike  and  other  rav- 
enous fish.  These  had  so  horribly  mutilated  the 
deceased  that  neither  form  nor  feature  remain- 
ed to  swear  by ;  and  as  the  law  wisely  and  hu- 
manely demands  that  in  these  cases  a  body  shall 
be  identified  beyond  doubt,  justice  bade  fair  to  be 
baffled  again.  'But  lo !  as  often  happens  in  case 
of  murder,  Providence  interposed  and  pointed 
with  unerring  finger  to  a  slight  but  infallible 
mark.  The  deceased  gentleman  was  known  to 
have  a  large  mole  over  his  left  temple.  It  had  been 
noticed  by  his  servants  and  his  neighbors.  Well, 
gentlemen,  the  greedy  fish  had  spared  this  mole — 
spared  it  perhaps  by  His  command  Avho  bade  the 
whale  swallow  Jonah,  yet  not  destroy  him.  There 
it  was,  clear  and  infallible.  It  was  examined  by 
several  witnesses ;  it  was  recognized ;  it  com- 
pleted that  chain  of  evidence,  some  of  it  direct, 
some  of  it  circumstantial,  which  I  have  laid  be- 
fore you  very  briefly,  and  every  part  of  which  I 
shall  now  support  by  credible  witnesses." 

He  called  thirteen  witnesses,  including  Mr. 
Atkins,  Thomas  Hayes.  Jane  Bannister,  Caroline 
Ryder,  and  others,  and  their  evidence  in  chief 
bore  out  every  positive  statement  the  counsel 
had  made. 

In  cross-examining  these  witnesses  Mrs.  Gaunt 
I  took  a  line  that  agreeably  surprised  the  court. 


122 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  ■  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


It  was  not  for  nothing  she  had  studied  a  hundred 
trials  with  a  woman's  observation  and  patient 
docility.  She  had  found  out  how  badly  people 
plead  their  own  causes,  and  had  noticed  the 
reasons;  one  of  which  is  that  they  say  too  much, 
and  stray  from  the  point.  The  line  she  took, 
with  one  exception,  was  keen  brevity. 

She  cross-examined  Thomas  Hayes  as  follows : 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

"Yon  say  the  peddler  was  a  hundred  yards 
behind  my  husband.  Which  of  the  two  men 
was  walking  fastest  ?" 

Thomas  Hayes  considered  a  moment.  * '  Well, 
I  think  the  squire  was  walking  rather  the  smart- 
est of  the  two. " 

"Did  the  peddler  seem  likely  to  overtake 
him?" 

"Nay.  Ye  see,  dame,  squire  he  walked 
straight  on ;  but  the  peddler  he  took  both  sides 
of  the  road  at  onst,  as  the  saying  is." 

The  Prisoner.  Forgive  me,  Thomas,  but  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean. 

Hayes  (compassionately).  How  should  ye? 
You  are  never  the  worse  for  liquor,  the  likes  of 
you. 

The  Prisoner  ( very  keenly  ).  Oh,  he  was  in 
liquor,  was  he  ? 

Hayes.  Come,  dame,  you  do  brew  good  ale  at 
Hernshaw  Castle.  Ye  needn't  go  to  deny  that ; 
for,  Lord  knows,  'tis  no  sin,  and  a  poor  fellow 
may  be  jolly,  yet  not  to  say  drunk. 

The  Judge  (sternly).  Witness,  attend,  and 
answer  directly. 

The  Prisoner.  Nay,  my  lord,  'tis  a  plain 
country  body,  and  means  no  ill.  Good  Thomas, 
be  so  much  my  friend  as  to  answer  plainly.  Was 
the  man  drunk  or  sober  ? 

Hayes.  All  I  know  is,  he  went  from  one  side 
of  the  road  to  t'other. 

The  Prisoner.  Thomas  Hayes,  as  you  hope 
to  be  saved  eternally,  was  the  peddler  drunk  or 
sober  ? 

Hayes.  Well,  if  I  must  tell  on  my  neighbor 
or  else  be  damned,  then  that  there  peddler  was 
as  drunk  as  a  lord. 

Here,  notwithstanding  the  nature  of  the  trial, 
the  laughter  was  h-repressible,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt 
sat  quietly  down  (for  she  was  allowed  a  seat), 
and  said^no  more. 

To  the  surgeon,  who  had  examined  the  body 
officially,  she  put  this  question,  "Did  you  find 
any  signs  of  violence  ?" 

The  Surgeon.  None  whatever;  but  then  there 
was  nothing  to  go  by,  except  the  head  and  the 
bones. 

The  Prisoner.  Have  you  experience  in  this 
kind?  I  mean,  have  you  inspected  murdered 
bodies  ? 

The  Surgeon.  Yes. 

The  Prisoner.  How  many  ? 

The  Surgeon.  Two  before  this. 

The  Prisoner.  Oh !  pray,  pray,  do  not  say 
"before  this:"  I  have  great  hopes  no  murder  at 
all  hath  been  committed  here.  Let  us  keep  to 
plain  cases.  Please  you  describe  the  injuries  in 
these  two  undoubted  cases. 

The  Surgeon.  In  Wellyn's  the  skull  was  frac- 
tured in  two  places.  In  Sherrett's  the  right  arm 
was  broken,  and  there  were  some  contusions  on 


the  head ;  but  the  cause  of  death  was  a  stab  that 
penetrated  the  lungs. 

The  Prisoner.  Suppose  Wellyn's  murderers  had 
thrown  his  body  into  the  water,  and  the  fishes  had 
so  mutilated  it  as  they  have  this  one,  could  you 
by  your  art  have  detected  the  signs  of  violence  ? 

The  Surgeon.  Certainly.  The  man's  skull  was 
fractured.    Wellyn's,  I  mean. 

The  Prisoner.  I  put  the  same  question  with 
regard  to  Sherrett's. 

The  Surgeon.  I  can  not  answer  it :  here  the 
lungs  were  devoured  by  the  fishes :  no  signs  of 
lesion  can  be  detected  in  an  organ  that  has 
ceased  to  exist. 

The  Prisoner.  This  is  too  partial.  Why  select 
one  injury  out  of  several  ?  What  I  ask  is  this  : 
could  you  have  detected  violence  in  Sherrett's 
case,  although  the  fishes  had  eaten  the  flesh  of 
his  body  ? 

The  Surgeon.  I  answer  that  the  minor  injuries 
of  Sherrett  would  have  been  equally  perceptible  ; 
to  wit,  the  bruises  on  the  head,  and  the  broken 
arm,  but  not  the  perforation  of  the  lungs ;  and 
that  it  was  killed  the  man. 

Prisoner.  Then,  so  far  as  you  know,  and  can 
swear,  about  murder,  more  blows  have  always 
been  struck  than  one,  and  some  of  the  blows 
struck  in  Sherrett's  case,  and  Wellyn's,  would 
have  left  traces  that  fishes'  teeth  could  not  ef- 
face? 

The  Surgeon.  That  is  so,  if  I  am  to  be  pee- 
vishly confined  to  my  small  and  narrow  expe- 
rience of  murdered  bodies.  But  my  general 
knowledge  of  the  many  ways  in  which  life  may 
be  taken  by  violence — 

The  judge  stopped  him,  and  said  that,  in  a 
case  of  blood,  that  could  hardly  be  admitted  as 
evidence  against  Lis  actual  experience. 

The  prisoner  put  a  drawing  of  the  castle,  the 
mere,  and  the  bridge,  into  the  witnesses'  hands, 
and  elicited  that  it  was  correct,  and  also  the  dis- 
tances marked  on  it.  They  had,  in  fact,  been 
measured  exactly  for  her. 

The  hobnailed  shoes  were  produced,  and  she 
made  some  use  of  them,  particularly  in  cross-ex- 
amining Jane  Bannister. 

Prisoner.  Look  at  those  shoes.  Saw  you  ever 
the  like  on  Mr.  Gaimt's  feet  ? 

Jane.  That  I  never  did  dame. 

Prisoner.  What,  not  when  he  came  into  the 
kitchen  on  the  15th  of  October? 

Jane.  Nay,  he  was  booted.  By  the  same  to- 
ken, I  saw  the  boy  a  cleaning  of  them  for  supper. 

Prisoner.  Those  boots,  when  you  broke  into 
his  room,  did  you  find  them  ? 

Jane.  Nay,  when  the  man  went,  his  boots 
went,  as  reason  was.  We  found  naught  of  his 
but  a  soiled  glove. 

Prisoner.  Had  the  peddler  boots  on  ? 

Jane.  Alas !  who  ever  see'd  a  booted  peddler  ? 

Prisoner.  Had  he  these  very  shoes  on  ?  Look 
at  them. 

Jane.  I  couldn't  say  for  that.  He  had  shoon, 
for  they  did  properly  clatter  on  my  bricks. 

The  Judge.  Clatter  on  her  bricks  !  What  does 
she  mean  ? 

Prisoner.  I  think  she  means  on  the  floor  of 
her  kitchen.  'Tis  a  brick  floor,  if  I  remember 
right. 

The  Judge.  Good  woman,  say,  is  that  what 
you  mean  ? 

Jane.  Ay,  an't  please  you,  my  lord. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


123 


Prisoner.  Had  the  peddler  a  mole  on  his  fore- 
head? 

Jane.  Not  that  I  know  on.  I  never  took  so 
much  notice  of  the  man.  But  la !  dame,  now  I 
look  at  you,  I  don't  believe  you  was  ever  the  one 
to  murder  our  master. 

Wiltshire.  We  don't  want  your  opinion.  Con- 
fine yourself  to  facts. 

Prisoner.  You  heard  me  rating  my  husband 
on  that  night ;  what  was  it  I  said  about  the  con- 
stables— do  you  remember? 

Jane.  La !  dame,  I  wouldn't  ask  that  if  I  was 
in  your  place. 

Prisoner.  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your 
advice,  but  answer  me — U'uly. 

Jane.  Well,  if  you  will  have  it,  I  think  you 
said  they  should  be  here  in  the  morning.  But, 
indeed,  good  gentlemen,  her  bark  was  always 
worse  than  her  bite,  poor  soul r- 

The  Judge.  Here.  That  meant  at  Hernshaw 
Castle,  I  presume. 

Jane.  Ay,  my  lord,  an'  if  it  please  your  lord- 
ship's honor's  worship. 

Mrs.  Gaunt,  husbanding  the  patience  of  the 
court,  put  no  questions  at  all  to  several  witness- 
es, but  she  cross-examined  Mrs.  Ryder  very 
closely.  This  was  necessary,  for  Ryder  was  a 
fatal  witness.  Her  memory  had  stored  every 
rash  and  hasty  word  the  poor  lady  had  uttered, 
and,  influenced  either  by  animosity  or  prejudice, 
she  put  the  worst  color  on  every  suspicious  cir- 
cumstance. She  gave  her  damnatory  evidence 
neatly  and  clearly,  and  with  a  seeming  candor 
and  regret  that  disarmed  suspicion. 

When  her  examination  in  chief  concluded, 
there  was  but  one  opinion  among  the  bar  and 
the  auditors  in  general,  viz.,  that  the  maid  had 
hung  the  mistress. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  herself  feit  she  had  a  terrible  an- 
tagonist to  deal  with,  and,  when  she  rose  to  cross- 
examine  her,  she  looked  paler  than  she  had  done 
all'  through  the  trial. 

She  rose,  but  seemed  to  ask  herself  how  to  be- 
gin ;  and  her  pallor  and  her  hesitation,  while  they 
excited  some  little  sympathy,  confirmed  the  un- 
favorable impression.  She  fixed  her  eyes  upon 
the  witness,  as  if  to  discover  where  she  was 
most  vulnerable.  Mrs.  Ryder  returned  her  gaze 
calmly.  The  court  was  hushed,  for  it  was  evi- 
dent a  duel  was  coming  between  two  women  of 
no  common  ability. 

The  opening  rather  disappointed  expectation. 
Mrs.  Gaunt  seemed,  by  her  manner,  desirous  to 
propitiate  the  witness. 

Prisoner  (very  civilly).  You  say  you  brought 
Thomas  Leicester  to  my  bedroom  on  that  terri- 
ble night  ? 

Ryder  (civilly).  Yes,  madam. 
Prisoner.  And  you  say  he  staid  there  half  an 
hour  ? 

Ryder.  Yes,  madam,  he  did. 
Prisoner.  May  I  inquire  how  you  know  he 
staid  just  half  an  hour  ? 

Ryder.  My  watch  told  me  that,  madam.  I 
brought  him  to  you  at  a  quarter  past  eleven, 
and  you  did  not  ring  for  me  till  a  quarter  to 
twelve. 

Prisoner.  And  when  I  did  ring  for  vou,  what 
then?  J     ' 

Ryder.  I  came  and  took  the  man  away,  by 
your  orders. 

Prisoner.  At  a  quarter  to  twelve  ? 


Ryder.  At  a  quarter  to  twelve. 

Prisoner.  This  Leicester  was  a  lover  of  yours  ? 

Ryder.  Not  he. 

Prisoner.  Oh  fie !  Why,  he  offered  you  mar- 
riage ;  it  went  so  far  as  that. 

Ryder.  Oh,  that  was  before  you  set  him  up 
peddler. 

Prisoner.  'Twas  so;  but  he  was  single  for 
your  sake,  and  he  renewed  his  offer  that  very 
night.  Come,  do  not  forswear  yourself  about  a 
trifle. 

Ryder.  Trifle,  indeed !  Why,  if  he  did,  what 
has  that  to  do  with  the  murder  ?  You'll  do 
yourself  no  good,  madam,  by  going  about  so. 

Wiltshire.  Really,  madam,  this  is  beside  the 
mark. 

Prisoner.  If  so,  it  can  do  your  case  no  harm. 
My  lord,  you  did  twice  interrupt  the  learned 
counsel,  and  forbade  him  to  lead  his  witnesses ; 
I  not  once,  for  I  am  for  stopping  no  mouths,  but 
sifting  all  to  the  bottom.  Now  I  implore  you  to 
let  me  have  fair  play  in  my  turn,  and  an  answer 
from  this  slippery  witness. 

The  Judge.  Prisoner,  I  do  not  quite  see  your 
drift,  but  God  forbid  you  should  be  hampered  in 
your  defense.  Witness,  by  virtue  of  your  oath, 
reply  directly.  Did  this  peddler  offer  you  mar- 
riage that  night  after  he  left  the  prisoner  ? 

Ryder.  My  lord,  he  did. 

Prisoner.  And  confided  to  you  he  had  orders 
to  kill  Mr.  Gaunt? 

Ryder.  Not  he,  madam  ;  that  was  not  the  way 
to  win  me. 

Prisoner.  What !  did  not  his  terrible  purpose 
peep  out  all  the  time  he  was  making  love  to 
you  ? 

No  reply. 

Prisoner.  You  had  the  kitchen  to  your  two 
selves  i    Come,  don't  hesitate. 

Ryder.  The  other  servants  were  gone  to  bed, 
you  kept  the  man  so  late. 

Prisoner.  Oh,  I  mean  no  reflection  on  your 
prudence.  You  went  out  of  doors  with  youi 
wooer,  just  to  see  him  off? 

Ryder.  Not  I.  What  for  ?  I  had  nobody  to 
make  away  with.  I  just  opened  the  door  for 
him,  bolted  it  after  him,  and  went  straight  to  my 
bedroom. 

Prisoner.  How  long  had  you  been  there  when 
you  heard  the  cry  for  help  ? 

Ryder.  Scarce  ten  minutes.  I  had  not  taken 
my  stays  off. 

Prisoner.  If  you  and  Thomas  Hayes  speak 
true,  that  gives  half  an  hour  you  were  making 
love  with  the  murderer  after  he  left  me.  Am  I 
correct  ? 

The  witness  now  saAv  whither  she  had  been 
led,  and  changed  her  manner.  She  became  sul- 
len, and  watched  an  opportunity  to  stab. 

Prisoner.  Had  he  a  mole  on  his  brow? 

Ryder.  Not  that  I  know  of. 

Prisoner.  Why,  where  were  your  eyes,  then, 
when  the  murderer  saluted  you  at  parting  ? 

Ryder's  eyes  flashed ;  but  she  felt  her  temper 
tried,  and  governed  it  all  the  more  severely.  She 
treated  the  question  with  silent  contempt. 

Prisoner.  But  you  pass  for  a  discreet  woman ; 
perhaps  you  looked  modestly  down  when  the  as- 
sassin saluted  you  ? 

Ryder.  If  he  saluted  me,  perhaps  I  did. 

Prisoner.  In  that  case  you  could  not  see  his 
mole;  but  you   must  have  noticed  his  shoes. 


124 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT  :   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


Were  these  the  shoes  he  wore  ?  Look  at  them 
well. 

Ryder  (after  inspecting  them).  I  do  not  rec- 
ognize them. 

Prisoner.  Will  you  swear  these  were  not  the 
shoes  he  had  on  ? 

Ryder.  How  can  I  swear  that  ?  I  know  noth- 
ing about  the  man's  shoes.  If  you  please,  my 
lord,  am  I  to  be  kept  here  all  day  with  her  fool- 
ish, trifling  questions  ? 

The  Judge.  x\ll  day,  and  all  night  too,  if  jus- 
tice requires  it.  The  law  is  not  swift  to  shed 
blood. 

Prisoner.  My  lord  and  the  gentlemen  of  the 
jury  were  here  before  you,  and  will  be  kept  here 
after  you.  Prithee  attend.  Look  at  that  draw- 
ing of  Hernshaw  Castle  and  Hernshaw  Mere. 
Now  take  this  pencil  and  mark  your  bedroom  on 
the  drawing. 

The  pencil  was  taken  from  the  prisoner  and 
handed  to  Ryder.  She  waited  like  a  cat  till  it 
came  close  to  her,  then  recoiled  with  an  admira- 
ble scream.  ' '  Me  handle  a  thing  hot  from  the 
hand  of  a  murderess !  It  makes  me  tremble  all 
over." 

This  cruel  stab  affected  the  prisoner  visibly. 
She  put  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  with  tears 
in  her  eyes  faltered  out  a  request  to  the  judge 
that  she  might  sit  down  a  minute. 

The  Judge.  To  be  sure  you  may.  And  you, 
my  good  woman,  must  not  run  before  the  court. 
How  do  you  know  what  evidence  she  may  have 
in  store  ?  At  present  we  have  only  heard  one 
side.     Re  more  moderate. 

The  prisoner  rose  promptly  to  her  feet.  ' '  My 
lord,  I  welcome  the  insult  that  has  disgusted  your 
lordship  and  the  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  and  won 
me  those  good  words  of  comfort. "  To  Ryder — 
"  What  sort  of  a  night  was  it?" 

Ryder.  Very  little  moon,  but  a  clear,  starry 
night. 

Prisoner.  Could  you  see  the  mere,  and  the 
banks  ? 

Ryder.  Nay,  but  so  much  of  it  as  faced  my 
window. 

Prisoner.  Have  you  marked  your  window  ? 

Ryder.  I  have. 

Prisoner.  Now  mark  the  place  where  you  heard 
Mr.  Gaunt  cry  for  help. 

Ryder.  'Twas  about  here — under  these  trees.^ 
And  that  is  why  I  coidd  not  see  him,  along  of 
the  shadow. 

Prisoner.  Possibly.  Did  you  see  me  on  that 
side  the  mere. 

Ryder.  No. 

Prisoner.  What  colored  dress  had  I  on  at  that 
time? 

Ryder.  White  satin. 

Prisoner.  Then  you  could  have  seen  me,  even 
among  the  trees,  had  I  been  on  that  side  the 
mere  ? 

Ryder.  I  can't  say.  However,  I  never  said 
you  were  on  the  very  spot  where  the  deed  was 
done,  but  you  were  out  of  doors. 

Prisoner.  How  do  you  know  that  ? 

Ryder.  Why,  you  told  me  so  yourself. 

Prisoner.  Then  that  is  my  evidence,  not  yours. 
Swear  to  no  more  than  you  know.  Had  my  hus- 
band, to  your  knowledge,  a  reason  for  absconding 
suddenly  ? 

Ryder.  Yes,  he  had. 

Prisoner,  What  was  it  ? 


Ryder.  Fear  of  you. 

Prisoner.  Nay,  I  mean,  had  he  not  something 
to  fear — something  quite  different  from  that  I 
am  charged  with  ? 

Ryder.  You  know  best,  madam.  I  would  glad- 
ly serve  you,  but  I  can  not  guess  what  you  are 
driving  at. 

The  prisoner  was  taken  aback  by  this  impu- 
dent reply.  She  hesitated  to  force' her  servant 
to  expose  a  husband  whom  she  believed  to  be 
living,  and  her  hesitation  looked  like  discomfi- 
ture ,  and  Ryder  was  victorious  in  that  encounter. 

By  this  time  they  were  both  thoroughly  em- 
bittered, and  it  was  war  to  the  knife. 

Prisoner.  You  listened  to  our  unhappy  quarrel 
that  night  ? 

Ryder.  Quarrel !  madam,  'twas  all  on  one  side. 

Prisoner.  How  did  you  understand  what  I  said 
to  him  about  the  constables? 

Ryder.  Constables !  I  never  heard  you  say  the 
word. 

Prisoner.  Oh! 

Ryder.  Neither  when  you  threatened  him  with 
your  knife  to  me,  nor  when  you  threatened  him 
to  his  face. 

Prisoner.  Take  care  :  you  forget  that  Jane 
Bannister  heard  me ;  was  her  ear  nearer  the  key- 
hole than  yours  ? 

Ryder.  Jane !  she  is  a  simpleton.  You  could 
make  her  think  she  heard  any  thing.  I  noticed 
you  put  the  words  in  her  mouth. 

Prisoner.  God  forgive  you,  you  naughty  wom- 
an.   You  had  better  have  spoken  the  truth. 

Ryder.  My  lord,  if  you  please,  am  I  to  be  mis- 
called— by  a  murderess  ? 

The  Judge.  Come,  come,  this  is  no  place  for 
recrimmation. 

The  prisoner  now  stooped  and  examined  her 
papers,  and  took  a  distinct  line  of  cross-examina- 
tion. 

Prisoner*  (with  apparent  carelesness).  At  all 
events,  you  are  a  virtuous  woman,  Mrs.  Ryder  ? 

Ryder.  Yes,  madam,  as  virtuous  as  yourself, 
to  .say  the  least. 

Prisoner  (still  more  carelessly).  Married  cc 
single  ? 

Ryder.   Single,  and  like  to  be. 

Prisoner.  Yes,  if  I  remember  right,  I  made  a 
point  of  that  before  I  engaged  you  as  my  maid. 

Ryder.  I  believe  the  question  was  put. 

Prisoner.  Here  is  the  answer  in  your  hand- 
writing.    Is  not  that  your  handwriting  ? 

Ryder  (after  inspecting  it).  It  is. 

Prisoner.  You  came  highly  recommended  by 
your  last  mistress,  a  certain  Mrs.  Hamilton. 
Here  is  her  letter,  describing  you  as  a  model. 

Ryder.  Well,  madam,  hitherto  I  have  given 
satisfaction  to  all  my  mistresses,  Mrs.  Hamilton 
among  the  rest.  My  character  does  not  rest  on 
her  word  only,  I  hope. 

Prisoner.  Excuse  me  ;  I  engaged  you  on  her 
word  alone.     Now  who  is  this  Mrs.  Hamilton  ? 

Ryder.  A  worshipful  lady  I  served  for  eight 
months  before  I  came  to  you.  She  went  abroad, 
or  I  should  be  with  her  now. 

Prisoner.  Now  cast  your  eye  over  this  paper. 

It  was  the  copy  of  a  marriage  certificate  be- 
tween Thomas  Edwards  and  Caroline  Plunkett. 

"  Who  is  this  Caroline  Plunkett  ?" 

Ryder  turned  very  pale,  and  made  no  reply. 

"  I  ask  you  who  is  this  Caroline  Plunkett  ?" 

Ryder  (faintly).  Myself. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


125 


TJie  Jvdge.  Why,  you  said  you  were  single ! 

Ryder.  So  I  am — as  good  as  single.  ^  My  hus- 
band and  me  we  parted  eight  years  ago,  and  I 
have  never  seen  him  since. 

Prisoner.   Was  it  quite  eight  years  ago  ? 

Ryder.   Nearly  ;  'twas  in  May,  1739. 

Prisoner.  But  you  have  lived  with  him  since  ? 

Ryder.  Never,  upon  my  soul. 

Prisoner.  When  was  your  child  born  ? 

Ryder.  My  child  !     I  have  none. 

Prisoner.  In  January,  1743,  you  left  a  baby  at 
Biggleswade,  with  a  woman  called  Church— did 
you  not  ?. 

Ryder  (panting).  Of  course  I  did.  It  was  my 
sister's. 

Prisoner.  Do  you  mean  to  call  God  to  witness 
that  child  was  not  yours  ? 

Ryder  hesitated. 

Prisoner.  Will  you  swear  Mrs.  Church  did 
not  see  you  nurse  that  child  in  secret,  and  weep 
over  it  ? 

At  this  question  the  perspiration  stood  visible 
on  Ryder's  brow,  her  cheeks  were  ghastly,  and 
her  black  eyes  roved  like  some  wild  animal's 
round  the  court.  She  saw  her  own  danger,  and 
had  no  means  of  measuring  her  inquisitor's  in- 
formation. 

"  My  lord,  have  pity  on  me.  I  was  betrayed, 
abandoned.  Why  am  I  so  tormented  ?  i"  have 
not  committed  murder."  So,  catlike,  she  squeal- 
ed and  scratched  at  once. 

Prisoner.  What !  to  swear  away  an  innocent 
life,  is  not  that  murder? 

The  Judge.  Prisoner,  we  make  allowances  for 
your  sex  and  your  peril,  but  you  must  not  re- 
mark on  the  evidence  at  present.  Examine  as 
severely  as  you  will,  but  abstain  from  comment 
till  you  address  the  jury  on  your  defense. 

Sergeant  Wiltshire.  My  lord,  I  submit  that 
this  line  of  examination  is  barbarous,  and  travels 
out  of  the  case  entirely. 

Prisoner.  Not  so,  Mr.  Sergeant.  'Tis  done  by 
advice  of  an  able  lawyer.  My  life  is  in  peril 
unless  I  shake  this  witness's  credit.  To  that  end 
I  show  you  she  is  incontinent,  and  practised  in 
falsehood.  Unchastity  has  been  held  in  these 
courts  to  disqualify  a  female  witness — hath  it 
not,  my  lord  ? 

The  Judge.  Hardly.  But  to  disparage  her 
evidence  it  has.  And  wisely  ;  for  she  who  loses 
her  virtue  enters  on  a  life  of  deceit,  and  lying  is 
a  habit  that  spreads  from  one  thing  to  many. 
Much  wisdom  there  is  in  ancient  Avords.  Our 
forefathers  taught  us  to  call  a  virtuous  woman 
an  honest  woman,  and  the  law  does  but  follow 
in  that  track,  still,  however,  leaving  much  to  the 
discretion  of  the  jury. 

Prisoner.  I  would  show  her  more  mercy  than 
she  has  shown  to  me,  therefore  I  leave  that  mat- 
ter. Witness,  be  so  good  as  to  examine  Mrs. 
Hamilton's  letter,  and  compare  it  with  your  own. 
The  "y's"  and  the  "s's"  are  peculiar  in  both,  and 
yet  the  same.  Come,  confess  ;  Mrs.  Hamilton's 
is  a  forgery.  You  wrote  it.  Be  pleased  to  hand 
both  letters  up  to  my  lord  to  compare— the  dis- 
guise is  but  thin. 

Ryder.  Forgery  there  was  none.  There  is  no 
Mrs.  Hamilton.  (She  burst  into  tears.)  I  had 
my  child  to  provide  for,  and  no  man  to  help  me ! 
What  was  I  to  do  ?     A  servant  must  live. 

Prisoner.  Then  why  not  let  her  mistress  live, 
whose  bread  she  has  eaten  ?    My  lord,  shall  not 


this  false  witness  be  sent  hence  to  prison  for 
perjury? 

Wiltshire.  Certainly  not.  What  woman  on 
earth  is  expected  to  reveal  her  own  shame  upon 
oath  ?  'Twas  not  fair  nor  human  to  put  such 
questions.  Come,  madam,  leave  torturing  this 
poor  creature.  Show  some  mercy ;  you  may 
need  it  yourself. 

The  Prisoner.  Sir,  'tis  not  mercy  I  ask,  but 
justice  according  to  law.  But,  since  you  do  me 
the  honor  to  make  me  a  request,  I  will  comply, 
and  ask  her  but  one  question  more.  Describe 
my  apartment  into  which  you  showed  Thomas 
Leicester  that  night.     Begin  at  the  outer  door. 

Ryder.  First  there  is  the  ante-room;  then 
the  boudoir  ;  then  there's  your  bed-chamber. 

Prisoner.  Into  which  of  those  three  did  you 
show  Thomas  Leicester  ? 

Ryder.  Into  the  anteroom. 

Prisoner.  Then  why  did  you  say  it  was  in  my 
chamber  I  entertained  him  ? 

Ryder.  Madam,  I  meant  no  more  than  that  it 
was  your  private  apartment  up  stairs. 

Prisoner.  You  contrived  to  make  the  gentle- 
men think  otherwise. 

The  Judge.  That  you  did.  'Tis  down  in  my 
notes  that  she  received  the  peddler  in  her  bed- 
chamber. 

Ryder  (sobbing).  God  is  my  witness  I  did  not 
mean  to  mislead  your  lordship,  and  I  ask  my 
lady's  pardon  for  not  being  more  exact  in  that 
particular. 

At  this  the  prisoner  bowed  to  the  judge,  and 
sat  down  with  one  victorious  flash  of  her  gray  eye 
at  the  witness,  who  was  in  an  abject  condition  of 
fear,  and  hung  all  about  the  witness-box  limp  as 
a  wet  towel. 

Sergeant  Wiltshire  saw  she  was  so  thoroughly 
cowed  she  would  be  apt  to  truckle, and  soften  her 
evidence  to  propitiate  the  prisoner,  so  he  asked 
her  but  one  question. 

"  Were  you  and  the  prisoner  on  good  terms  ?" 

Ryder.  On  the  best  of  terms.  She  was  always 
a  good  and  libera]  mistress  to  me. 

Wiltshire.  I  will  not  prolong  your  sufferings. 
You  may  go  down. 

The  Judge.  But  you  will  not  leave  the  court 
till  this  trial  is  ended.  I  have  grave  doubts 
whether  I  ought  not  to  commit  you. 

Unfortunately  for  the  prisoner,  Ryder  was  not 
the  last  witness  for  the  crown.  The  others  that 
followed  were  so  manifestly  honest  that  it  would 
have  been  impolitic  to  handle  them  severely. 
The  prisoner,  therefore,  put  very  few  questions 
to  them,  and  when  the  last  witness  went  down 
the  case  looked  very  formidable. 

The  evidence  for  the  crown  being  now  com- 
plete, the  judge  retired  for  some  refreshment, 
and'the  court  buzzed  like  a  hum  of  bees.  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  lips  and  throat  were  parched,  and  her 
heart  quaked. 

A  Avoman  of  quite  the  loAver  order  thrust  forth 
a  great  arm  and  gave  her  an  orange.  Mrs. 
Gaunt  thanked  her  SAveetly,  and  the  juice  re- 
lieved her  throat. 

Also  this  bit  of  sympathy  was  of  good  omen, 
and  did  her  heart  good. 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  collect- 
ed all  her  poAvers  for  the  undertaking  before  her. 
She  had  noted  down  the  exact  order  of  her  top- 
ics, but  no  more. 

The  judge  returned  ;  the  crier  demanded  si* 


126 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT j  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


lence ;  and  the  prisoner  rose,  and  turned  her 
eyes  modestly  but  steadily  upon  those  who  held 
her  life  in  their  hands  ;  and,  true  to  the  wisdom 
of  her  sex,  the  first  thing  she  aimed  at  was — to 
please. 

"  My  lord,  and  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I 
am  now  to  reply  to  a  charge  of  murder,  founded 
on  a  little  testimony,  and  a  good  deal  of  false, 
but,  I  must  needs  say,  reasonable  conjecture. 

"I  am  innocent;  but,  unlike  other  innocent 
persons  who  have  stood  here  before  me,  I  have 
no  man  to  complain  of. 

"The  magistrates  who  committed  me  pro- 
ceeded with  due  caution  and  humanity ;  they 
weighed  my  hitherto  unspotted  reputation,  and 
were  in  no  hurry  to  prejudge  me ;  here,  in  this 
court,  I  have  met  with  much  forbearance ;  the 
learned  counsel  for  the  crown  has  made  me 
groan  under  his  abilities ;  that  was  his  duty ; 
but  he  said  from  the  first  he  would  do  nothing 
hard,  and  he  has  kept  his  word.  Often  he  might 
have  stopped  me ;  I  saw  it  in  his  face  ;  but,  be- 
ing a  gentleman  and  a  Christian,  as  well  as  a 
learned  lawyer,  methinks  he  said  to  himself, 
'This  is  a  poor  gentlewoman  pleading  for  her 
life;  let  her  have  some  little  advantage.'  As  for 
my  lord,  he  has  promised  to  be  my  counsel,  so 
far  as  his  high  station,  and  duty  to  the  crown, 
admit,  and  he  has  supported  and  consoled  me 
more  than  once  with  words  of  justice,  that  would 
not,  I  think,  have  encouraged  a  guilty  person, 
but  have  comforted  and  sustained  me  beyond  ex- 
pression. So,  then,  I  stand  here,  the  victim,  not 
of  man's  injustice,  but  of  deceitful  appearances, 
and  of  honest,  but  hasty  and  loose  conjectures. 

' '  These  conjectures  I  shall  now  sift,  and  hope 
to  show  you  how  hollow  they  are. 

"Gentlemen,  in  every  disputed  matter,  the 
best  way,  I  am  told,  is  to  begin  by  settling  what 
both  parties  are  agreed  in,  and  so  to  narrow  the 
matter.  To  use  that  way,  then,  I  do  heartily 
agree  with  the  learned  counsel  that  murder  is  a 
heinous  crime,  and  that,  black  as  it  is  at  the 
best,  yet  it  is  still  more  detestable  when  'tis  a 
wife  that  murders  her  husband,  and  robs  her 
child  of  a  parent  who  can  never  be  replaced. 

"  I  also  agree  with  him  that  circumstantial 
evidence  is  often  sufficient  to  convict  a  murder- 
er ;  and,  indeed,  were  it  not  so,  that  most  mon- 
strous of  crimes  would  go  oftenest  unpunished, 
since,  of  all  culprits,  murderei^  do  most  shun 
the  eyes  of  men  in  their  dark  deeds,  and  so  pro- 
vide beforehand  that  direct  testimony  to  their 
execrable  crime  there  shall  be  none.  Only  here- 
in I  am  advised  to  take  a  distinction  that  es- 
caped the  learned  sergeant ;  I  say  that  first  of 
all  it  ought  to  be  proved  directly,  and  to  the  na- 
ked eye,  that  a  man  has  been  murdered ;  and 
then,  if  none  saw  the  crime  done,  let  circum- 
stances point  out  the  murdei-er. 

' '  But  here  they  put  the  cart  before  the  horse ; 
they  find  a  dead  body,  with  no  marks  of  violence 
whatever,  and  labor  to  prove  by  circumstantial 
evidence  alone  that  this  mere  dead  body  is  a 
murdered  body.  This,  I  am  advised,  is  bad  in 
law,  and  contrary  to  general  precedents  ;  and 
the  particular  precedents  for  it  are  not  exam- 
ples, but  warnings,  since  both  the  prisoners  so 
rashly  convicted  were  proved  innocent  after  their 
execution." 

(The  judge  took  a  note  of  this  distinction.) 

"  Then,  to  go  from  principles  to  the  facts,  I 


agree  and  admit  that,  in  a  moment  of  anger,  I 
was  so  transported  out  of  myself  as  to  threaten 
my  husband's  life  before  Caroline  Ryder.  But 
afterward,  when  I  saw  him  face  to  face,  then 
that  I  threatened  him  with  violence,  that  I  denv. 
The  fact  is,  I  had  just  learned  that  he  had  com- 
mitted a  capital  offense,  and  what  I  threatened 
him  with  was  the  law.  This  was  proved  by  Jane 
Bannister.  She  says  she  heard  me  say  the  con- 
stables should  come  for  him  next  morning.  For 
what  ? — to  murder  him  ?" 

The  Judge.  Give  me  leave,  madam.  Shall 
you  prove  Mr.  Gaunt  had  committed  a  capital 
offense  ? 

Prisoner.  I  could,  my  lord,  but  I  am  loth  to 
do  it ;  for  if  I  did,  I  should  cast  him  into  worse 
trouble  than  I  am  in  myself. 

The  Judge  (  shaking  his  head  gravely ).  Let 
me  advise  you  to  advance  nothing  you  are  not 
able  and  willing  to  prove. 

The  Prisoner.  Then  I  confine  myself  to  this : 
it  was  proved  by  a  witness  for  the  crown  that  in 
the  dining-room  I  threatened  my  husband  to  his 
face  with  the  law.  Now  this  threat,  and  not 
that  other  extravagant  threat,  which  he  never 
heard,  you  know,  was  clearly  the  threat  which 
caused  him  to  abscond  that  night. 

"In  the  next  place,  I  agree  with  the  learned 
counsel  that  I  was  out  of  doors  at  one  o'clock 
that  morning.  But  if  he  will  use  me  as  his 
witness  in  that  matter,  then  he  must  not  pick, 
and  choose,  and  mutilate  my  testimony.  Nay, 
let  him  take  the  whole  truth,  and  not  just  so 
much  as  he  can  square  with  the  indictment. 
Either  believe  me,  that  I  was  out  of  doors  pray- 
ing, or  do  not  believe  me  that  I  was  out  of  doors 
at  all. 

"Gentlemen,  hear  the  simple  truth.  You  may 
see  in  the  map,  on  the  south  side  of  Hernshaw 
Castle,  a  grove  of  large  fir-trees.  'Tis  a  rev- 
erend place,  most  fit  for  prayer  and  meditation. 
Here  1  have  prayed  a  thousand  times  and  more 
before  the  fifteenth  of  October.  Hence  'tis  call- 
ed '  the  Dame's  Haunt,'  as  I  shall  prove,  that  am 
the  dame  'tis  called  after. 

"Let  it  not  seem  incredible  to  you  that  I 
should  pray  out  of  doors  in  my  grove  on  a  fine, 
clear,  starry  night.  For  aught  I  know,  Protest- 
ants may  pray  only  by  the  fireside ;  but  remem- 
ber, I  am  a  Catholic.  We  are  not  so  contracted 
in  our  praying.  We  do  not  confine  it  to  little 
comfortable  places.  Nay,  but  for  seventeen  hun- 
dred years  and  more  we  have  prayed  out  of  doors 
as  much  as  in  doors.  And  this  our  custom  is  no 
fit  subject  for  a  shallow  sneer.  How  does  the 
learned  sergeant  know  that,  beneath  the  vault  of 
heaven  at  night,  studded  with  those  angelic  eyes, 
the  stars,  is  an  unfit  place  to  bend  the  knee,  and 
raise  the  soul  in  prayer  ?    Has  he  ever  tried  it  ?" 

This  sudden  appeal  to  a  learned  and  eminent, 
but  by  no  means  devotional  sergeant,  so  tickled 
the  gentlemen  of  the  bar  that  they  burst  out 
laughing  with  singular  unanimity. 

This  dashed  the  prisoner,  who  had  not  intend- 
ed to  be  funny ;  and  she  hesitated,  and  looked 
distressed. 

The  Judge.  Proceed,  madam  :  these  remarks 
of  yours  are  singular,  but  quite  pertinent,  and  no 
fit 'subject  for  ridicule.  Gentlemen,  remember 
the  public  looks  to  you  for  an  example. 

Prisoner.  My  lord,  'twas  my  fault  for  making 
that  personal  "which   should  be  general.     But 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


127 


women  they  are  so.  'Tis  our  foible.  I  pray  the 
good  sergeant  to  excuse  me. 

"I  say,  then,  generally,  that  when  the  sun  re- 
tires, then  earth  fades,  but  heaven  comes  out  in 
tenfold  glory  ;  and  I  say  the  starry  firmament  at 
night  is  a  temple  not  built  with  hands,  and  the 
bare  sight  of  it  subdues  the  passions,  chastens  the 
heart,  and  aids  the  soul  in  prayer  surprisingly. 
Mv  lord,  as  I  am  a  Christian  woman,  'tis  true  that 
my  husband  had  wronged  me  cruelly  and  broken 
the  law.  'Tis  true  that  I  raged  against  him  and 
he  answered  me  not  again.  'Tis  true,  as  that 
witness  said,  that  my  bark  is  worse  than  my 
bite.  I  cooled,  and  then  felt  I  had  forgotten  the 
wife  and  the  Christian  in  my  wrath.  I  repented, 
and,  to  be  more  earnest  in  my  penitence,  I  did 
go  and  pray  out  o'  doors  beneath  those  holy  eyes 
of  heaven  that  seemed  to  look  down  with  chaste 
reproach  on  my  ungoverned  heat.  I  left  my 
fireside,  my  velvet  cushions,  and  all  the  little 
comforts  made  by  human  hands,  that  adorn  our 
earthlv  dwellings,  but  distract  our  eves  from 
God."" 

Some  applause  followed  this  piece  of  eloquence, 
exquisitely  uttered.  It  was  checked,  and  the  pris- 
oner resumed,  with  an  entire  change  of  manner. 

"Gentlemen,  the  case  against  me  is  like  a 
piece  of  rotten  wood  varnished  all  over.  It  looks 
fair  to  the  eye,  but  will  not  bear  handling. 

"  As  example  of  wlmt  I  say,  take  three  charges 
on  which  the  learned  sergeant  greatly  relied  on 
opening  his  case : 

"1st.  That  I  received  Thomas  Leicester  in  my 
bedroom. 

"2d.  That  he  went  hot  from  me  after  Mr. 
Gaunt. 

"3d.  That  he  was  seen  following  Mr.  Gaunt 
with  a  bloody  intent. 

"How  ugly  these  three  proofs  looked  at  first 
sight !  Well,  but  when  we  squeezed  the  wit- 
nesses ever  so  little,  what  did  these  three  dwindle 
down  to  ? 

1st.  That  I  received  Thomas  Leicester  in  an 
anteroom,  which  leads  to  a  boudoir,  and  that 
boudoir  leads  to  my  bedroom. 

"  2d.  That  Thomas  Leicester  went  from  me 
to  the  kitchen,  and  there,  for  a  good  half  hour, 
drank  my  ale  (as  it  appears),  and  made  love  to 
his  old  sweetheart,  Caroline  Ryder,  the  false  wit- 
ness for  the  crown,  and  went  abroad  fresh  from 
Iter,  and -not  from  vie. 

"  3d.  That  he  was  not  (to  speak  strictly)  seen 
following  Mr.  Gaunt,  but  just  walking  on  the 
same  road,  drunk,  and  staggering,  and  going  at 
such  a  rate  that,  as  the  crown's  own  witness 
swore,  he  could  hardly,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
overtake  Mr.  Gaunt,  who  walked  quicker,  and 
straighter  too,  than  he. 

"  So,  then,  even  if  a  murder  has  been  done, 
they  have  failed  to  connect  Thomas  Leicester 
with  it,  or  me  with  Thomas  Leicester.  Two 
broken  links  in  a  chain  of  but  three. 

"  And  now  I  come  to  the  more  agreeable  part 
of  my  defense.  I  do  think  there  has  been  no 
murder  at  all. 

"  There  is  no  evidence  of  a  murder. 

"A  body  is  found  with  the  flesh  eaten  by  fish- 
es, but  the  bones  and  the  head  uninjured.  They 
swear  a  surgeon,  who  has  examined  the  body, 
and  certainly  he  had  the  presumption  to  guess  it 
looks  like  a  murdered  body ;  but,  being  sifted, 
lie  was  forced  to  admit  that,  so  far  as  his  expe- 


rience of  murdered  bodies  goes,  it  is  not  like  a 
murdered  body,  for  there  is  no  bone  broken  nor 
bruise  on  the  head. 

"Where  is  the  body  found?  In  the  water. 
But  water  by  itself  is  a  sufficient  cause  of  death, 
and  a  common  cause  too,  and  kills  without  break- 
ing bones  or  bruising  the  head.  O  perversity  of 
the  wise !  For  every  one  creature  murdered  in 
England,  ten  are  accidentally  drowned ;  and  they 
find  a  dead  man  in  the  water,  which  is  as  much 
as  to  say  they  find  the  slain  in  the  arms  of  the 
slayer ;  yet  they  do  not  once  suspect  the  water, 
but  go  about  in  search  of  a  strange  and  monstrous 
crime. 

"  Mr.  Gaunt's  cry  for  help  was  heard  here,  if 
it  was  heard  at  all  (which  I  greatly  doubt),  here 
by  this  clump  of  trees  ;  the  body  was  found  here, 
hard  by  the  bridge,  which  is,  by  measurement, 
one  furlong  and  sixty  paces  from  that  clump  of 
trees,  as  I  shall  prove.  There  is  no  current  in 
the  mere  lively  enough  to  move  a  body,  and  what 
there  is  runs  the  wrong  way.  So  this  discon- 
nects the  cry  for  help  and  the  dead  body.  An- 
other broken  link ! 

' '  And  now  I  come  to  my  third  defense.  I  say 
the  body  is  not  the  body  of  Griffith  Gaunt. 

"  The  body,  mutilated  as  it  was,  had  two  dis- 
tinguishing marks — a  mole  on  the  brow,  and  a 
pair  of  hobnailed  shoes  on  the  feet. 

"Now  the  advisers  of  the  crown  fix  their  eyes 
on  that  mole,  but  they  turn  their  heads  away 
from  the  hobnailed  shoes.  But  why  ?  Articles 
of  raiment  found  on  a  body  are  legal  evidence  of 
identity.  How  often,  my  lord,  in  cases  of  mur- 
der, hath  the  crown  relied  on  such  particulars, 
especially  in  cases  where  corruption  had  obscured 
the  features. 

"I  shall  not  imitate  this  partiality,  this  ob- 
stinate prejudice  ;  I  shall  not  ask  you  to  shut 
your  eyes  on  the  mole,  as  they  do  on  the  shoes, 
but  shall  meet  the  whole  truth  fairly. 

"  Mr.  Gaunt  went  from  my  house  that  moivn- 
ing  with  boots  on  his  feet  and  with  a  mole  on  his 
brow. 

"Thomas  Leicester  went  the  same  road,  with 
shoes  on  his  feet,  and,  as  I  shall  prove,  with  a 
mole  on  his  brow. 

"  To  be  sure  the  crown  witnesses  did  not  dis- 
tinctly admit  this  mole  on  him,  but  you  will  re- 
member they  dared  not  deny  it  on  their  oaths, 
and  so  run  their  heads  into  an  indictment  for 
perjury. 

"But,  gentlemen,  I  shall  put  seven  witnesses 
into  the  box  who  will  all  swear  that  they  have 
known  Thomas  Leicester  for  years,  and  that  he 
had  a  mole  upon  his  left  temple. 

' '  One  of  these  witnesses  is — the  mother  that 
bore  him. 

"I  shall  then  call  witnesses  to  prove  that,  on 
the  fifteenth  of  October,  the  bridge  over  the  mere 
was  in  bad  repair,  and  a  portion  of  the  side  rail 
gone  ;  and  that  the  body  was  found  within  a  few 
yards  of  that  defective  bridge;  and  then,  as 
Thomas  Leicester  went  that  way,  drunk,  and 
staggering  from  side  to  side,  you  may  reasonably 
infer  that  he  fell  into  the  water  in  passing  the 
bridge.  To  show  this  is  possible,  I  shall  prove 
the  same  thing  has  actually  occurred.  I  shall 
swear  the  oldest  man  in  the  parish,  who  will  de- 
pose to  a  similar  event  that  happened  in  his  boy- 
hood. He  hath  said  it  a  thousand  times  before 
to-day,  and  now  will  swear  it.     He  will  tell  you 


128 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


that  on  a  certain  day,  sixty-nine  years  ago,  the 
parson  of  Hernshaw,  the  Rev.  Augustus  Murth- 
waite,  went  to  cross  this  bridge  at  night,  after 
carousing  at  Hernshaw  Castle  with  our  great- 
grandfather, my  husband's  and  mine,  the  then 
proprietor  of  Hernshaw,  and  tumbled  into  the 
water ;  and  his  body  was  found,  gnawed  out  of 
the  very  form  of  humanity  by  the  fishes,  within 
a  yard  or  two  of  the  spot  where  poor  Tom  Lei- 
cester was  found,  that  hath  cost  us  all  this  trou- 
ble. So  do  the  same  causes  bring  round  the 
game  events  in  a  cycle  of  years.  The  only  dif- 
ference is  that  the  parson  drank  his  death  in 
our  dining-room,  and  the  peddler  in  our  kitchen. 

"No  doubt,  my  lord,  you  have  observed  that 
sometimes  a  hasty  and  involuntary  inaccuracy 
gives  quite  a  wrong  color  to  a  thing.  I  assure 
you  I  have  suffered  by  this.  It  is  said  that  the 
moment  Mr.  Atkins  proposed  to  drag  my  mere, 
I  fainted  away.  In  this  account  there  is  an 
omission.  I  shall  prove  that  Mr.  Atkins  used 
these  words — '  And  underneath  that  water  I  un- 
dertake to  find  the  remains  of  Griffith  Gaunt.' 
Now,  gentlemen,  you  shall  understand  that  at 
this  time,  and  indeed  until  the  moment  when  I 
saw  the  shoes  upon  that  poor  corpse's  feet,  I  was 
in  great  terror  for  my  husband's  life.  How  could 
it  be  otherwise?  Caroline  Ryder  had  told  me 
she  heard  his  cry  for  help.  He  had  disappeared. 
What  was  I  to  think  ?  I  feared  he  had  fallen  in 
with  robbers.  I  feared  all  manner  of  things.  So, 
when  the  lawyer  said  so  positively  he  would  find 
his  body,  I  was  overpowered.  Ah  !  gentlemen, 
wedded  life  survives  many  wrongs,  many  angry 
words ;  I  love  my  husband  still ;  and  when  the 
man  told  me  so  brutally  that  he  was  certainly 
dead,  I  fainted  away.  I  confess  it.  Shall  I  be 
hanged  for  that  ? 

"  But  now,  thank  God !  I  am  full  of  hope  that 
he  is  alive,  and  that  good  hope  has  given  me  the 
courage  to  make  this  great  effort  to  save  my  OAvn 
life. 

"Hitherto  I  have  been  able  to  contradict  my 
accusers  positively,  but  now  I  come  to  a  mysteri- 
ous circumstance  that  I  own  puzzles  me.  Most 
persons  accused  of  murder  could,  if  they  chose, 
make  a  clean  breast,  and  tell  you  the  whole  mat- 
ter. But  this  is  not  my  case.  I  know  shoes 
from  boots,  and  I  know  Kate  Gaunt  from  a  liar 
and  a  murderess ;  but,  when  all  is  said,  this  is 
still  a  dark,  mysterious  business,  and  there  are 
things  in  it  I  can  only  deal  with  as  you  do,  gen- 
tlemen, by  bringing  my  wits  to  bear  upon  them 
in  reasonable  conjecture. 

"  Caroline  Ryder  swears  she  heard  Mr.  Gaunt 
cry  for  help.  And  Mr.  Gaunt  has  certainly  dis- 
appeared. 

' '  My  accusers  have  somewhat  weakened  this 
by  trying  to  palm  off  the  body  of  Thomas  Leices- 
ter on  you  for  the  body  of  Mr.  Gaunt.  But  the 
original  mystery  remains,  and  puzzles  me.  I 
might  fairly  appeal  to  you  to  disbelieve  the  wit- 
ness. She  is  proved  incontinent,  and  a  practised 
liar,  and  she  forswore  herself  in  this  court,  and 
my  lord  is  in  two  minds  about  committing  her. 
But  a  liar  does  not  always  lie,  and,  to  be  honest, 
I  think  she  really  believes  she  heard  Mr.  Gaunt 
cry  for  help,  for  she  went  straight  to  his  bedroom, 
and  that  looks  as  if  she  really  thought  she  heard 
his  voice.  But  a  liar  may  be  mistaken  ;  do  not 
forget  that.  Distance  affects  the  voice  ;  and  I 
think  the  voice  she  heard  was  Thomas  Leices- 


ter's, and  the  place  ;rfrrname  from  higher  up  the 
mere.  '  ,*«&» 

"  This,  my  notior  ill !  prise  you  less  when 
I  prove  to  you  that  d  cet  s  voice  bore  a  fam- 
ily likeness  to  Mr.  taunt's.  I  shall  call  two 
witnesses  Avho  have  been  out  hooting  with  Mr. 
Gaunt  and  Tom  Leicester,  and  have  heard  Lei- 
cester halloo  in  the  wood,  and  taken  it  for  Mr. 
Gaunt. 

"  Must  I  tell  you  the  whole  truth  ?  This  Lei- 
cester has  always  passed  for  an  illegitimate  son 
of  Mr.  Gaunt's  father.  He  resembled  my  hus- 
band in  form,  stature,  and  voice  ;  he  had  the 
Gaunt  mole,  and  has  often  spoken  of  it  by  that 
name.  My  husband  forgave  him  many  faults  for 
no  other  reason,  and  I  bought  his  wares  and  filled 
his  pack  for  no  other  reason  than  this — that  he 
was  my  husband's  brother  by  nature,  though  not 
in  law.     '  Honi  soit  qui  mal  y  pense.' 

"Ah!  that  is  a  royal  device;  yet  how  often 
in  this  business  have  the  advisers  of  the  crown 
forgotten  it  ? 

"  My  lord,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  I  return 
from  these  conjectures  to  the  indisputable  facts 
of  my  defense. 

' '  Mr.  Gaunt  may  be  alive  or  may  be  dead.  He 
was  certainly  alive  on  the  fifteenth  of  October, 
and  it  lies  on  the  crown  to  prove  him  dead,  and 
not  on  me  to  prove  him  alive.  But,  as  for  the 
body  that  forms  the  subject  of  this  indictment,  it 
is  the  body  of  Thomas  Leicester,  who  was  seen 
on  the  sixteenth  of  October,  at  one  in  the  morn- 
ing, drunk  and  staggering,  and  making  for  Hern- 
shaw bridge,  which  leads  to  his  mother's  house  ; 
and  on  all  his  former  visits  to  Ternshaw  Castle 
he  went  on  to  his  mother's,  I  shall  prove. 
This  time  he  never  reached  her,  as  I  shall  prove  ; 
but  on  his  way  to  her  did  meet  his  death  by  the 
will  of  God,  and  no  fault  of  man  or  woman,  in 
Hernshaw  Mere. 

"Swear  Sarah  Leicester." 

The  Judge.  I  think  you  say  you  have  several 
witnesses  ? 

Prisoner.  More  than  twenty,  my  lord. 

The  Judge.  We  can  not  possibly  dispose  of 
them  this  evening.  We  v»  ill  hear  your  evidence 
to-morrow.  Prisoner,  this  will  enable  you  to 
consult  with  your  legal  advisers,  and  let  me  urge 
upon  you  to  prove,  if  you  can,  that  Mr.  Gaunt 
has  a  sufficient  motive  for  hiding  and  not  answer- 
ing Mr.  Atkins's  invitation  to  inherit  a  large  es- 
tate. Some  such  proof  is  necessary  to  complete 
your  defense ;  and  I  am  sorry  to  see  you  have 
made  no  mention  of  it  in  your  address,  which 
was  otherwise  able. 

Prisoner.  My  lord,  I  think  I  can  prove  my 
own  innocence  without  casting  a  slur  upon  my 
husband. 

The  Judge.  You  think  f  when  your  life  is  at 
stake.  Be  not  so  mad  as  to  leave  so  large  a  hole 
in  your  defense,  if  you  can  mend  it.  Take  ad- 
vice. 

He  said  this  very  solemnly — then  rose  and.  left 
the  court. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  conveyed  back  to  prison,  and 
there  was  soon  prostrated  by  the  depression  that 
follows  an  unnatural  excitement. 

Mr.  Houseman  found  her  on  the  sofa,  pale  and 
dejected,  and  clasping  the  jailer's  wife  convulsive- 
ly, who  applied  hartshorn  to  her  nostrils. 

He  proved  but  a  Job's  comforter.  Her  de- 
fense, creditable  as  it  was  to  a  novice,  seemed 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


120 


wordy  and  weak  to  hftn  a  lawyer;  and  he  was 
horrified  at  the  rdmis  \s  she  had  made.  In 
her  place  he  wc  !  h.  admitted  nothing  he 
could  not  thoroiij      /  e     .ain. 

He  came  to  insist  on  a  change  of  tactics. 

When  he  sir  -  her  sad  condition,  he  tried  to 
begin  by  consoling  and  encouraging  her.  But 
his  own  serious  misgivings  unfitted  him  for  this 
task,  and  very  soon,  notwithstanding  the  state 
she  was  in,  he  was  almost  scolding  her  for  being 
so  mad  as  to  withstand  the  judge,  and  "set  her- 
self against  his  advice.  "  There,"  said  he,  "  my 
lord  kept  his  word,  and  became  counsel  for  you. 
'Close  that  gap  in  your  defense,'  says  he,  'and 
you  will  very  likely  be  acquitted.'  'Nay,'  says 
you,  'I  prefer  to  chance  it.'  What  madness! 
what  injustice!" 

"Injustice!  to  whom  ?" 

" To  whom ?  why,  to  yourself." 

"  What !  may  I  not  be  unjust  to  myself?" 

" Certainly  not;  you  have  no  right  to  be  un- 
just to  any  body.  Don't  deceive  yourself;  there 
is  no  virtue  in  this ;  it  is  mere  miserable  weak- 
ness. What  right  have  you  to  peril  an  innocent 
life  merely  to  screen  the  malefactor  from  just 
obloquy  ?" 

"Alas!"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  "'tis  more  than 
obloquy.  They  will  kill  him ;  they  will  brand 
him  with  a  hot  iron." 

"  Not  unless  he  is  indicted ;  and  who  will  in- 
dict him  ?  Sir  George  Neville  must  be  got  to 
muzzle  the  attorney  general,  and  the  Lancashire 
jade  will  not  move  against  him,  for  you  say  they 
are  living  together." 

"Of  cour,,T  they  are;  and,  as  you  say,  why 
should  I  sere  ,i  him  ?  But  'twill  not  serve  ;.  who 
can  combat  prejudice  ?  If  what  I  have  said  does 
not  convince  them,  an  angel's  voice  would  not. 
Sir,  I  am  a  Catholic,  and  they  will  hang  me.  I 
shall  die  miserably,  having  exposed  my  husband, 
who  loved  me  once — oh  !  so  dearly.  I  trifled 
with  his  love.     I  deserve  it  all." 

"  You  will  not  die  at  all,  if  you  will  only  be 
good  and  obedient,  and  listen  to  wiser  heads.  I 
have  subpoenaed  Caroline  Ryder  as  your  witness, 
and  given  her  a  hint  how  to  escape  an  indict- 
ment for  perjury.  You  will  find  her  supple  as 
a  glove." 

"  Call  a  rattlesnake  for  my  witness?" 

"I  have  drawn  her  fangs.  You  will  also  call 
Sir  George  Neville,  to  prove  he  saw  Gaunt's  pict- 
ure at  the  '  Packhorse,'  and  heard  the  other 
wife's  tale.  Wiltshire  will  object  to  this  as  evi- 
dence, and  say  why  don't  you  produce  Mercy 
Vint  herself.  Then  you  will  call  me  to  prove 
that  I  sent  the  subpeena  to  Mercy  Vint.  Come, 
now,  I  can  not  eat  or  sleep  till  you  promise 
me." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  sighed  deeply.  "  Spare  me,"  said 
she ;  "  I  am  worn  out.  Oh  that  I  could  die  be- 
fore the  trial  begins  again  !" 

Houseman  saw  the  signs  of  yielding,  and  per- 
sisted. "Come,  promise  now,"  said  he,  "  then 
you  will  feel  better." 

"I  will  do  whatever  you  bid  me,"  said  she. 
"  Only,  if  they  let  me  off,  I  will  go  into  a  con- 
vent.    No  power  shall  hinder  me." 

"  You  shall  go  where  you  like,  except  to  the 
gallows.  Enough  ;  'tis  a  promise,  and  I  never 
knew  you  to  break  one.  Now  I  can  eat  mv 
supper.  You  are  a  good,  obedient  child,  and  I 
am  a  happy  attorney/' 
*  I 


"And  I  am  the  most  miserable  woman  in  all 
England." 

"Child,"  said  the  wrorthy  lawyer, "your  spir- 
its have  given  way  because  they  were  strung  so 
high.  You  need  repose.  Go  to  bed  now,  and 
sleep  twelve  hours.  Believe  me  you  will  wake 
another  woman." 

"Ah!  would  I  could!"  cried  Mrs.  Gaunt, 
with  all  the  eloquence  of  despair. 

Houseman  murmured  a  few  more  consoling 
words,  and  then  left  her,  after  once  more  exact- 
ing a  promise  that  she  would  receive  no  more 
visits,  but  go  to  bed  directly.  the  was  to  send 
all  intruders  to  him  at  the  "Angel." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  proceeded  to  obey  his  orders,  and 
though  it  was  but  eight  o'clock,  she  made  prepa- 
rations for  bed,  and  then  went  to  her  nightly  de- 
votions. 

She  was  in  sore  trouble,  and  earthly  trouble 
turns  the  heart  heavenward.  Yet  it  was  not  so 
with  her.  The  deep  languor  that  oppressed  her 
seemed  to  have  reached  her  inmost  soul.  Her 
beads,  falling  one  by  one  from  her  hand,  denoted 
the  number  of  her  supplications  ;  but,  for  once, 
they  were  preces  sine  mente  dictae.  Her  feith 
was  cold,  her  belief  in  divine  justice  was  shaken 
for  a  time.  She  began  to  doubt  and  to  despond. 
That  bitter  hour,  which  David  has  sung  so  well, 
and  Bunyan,  from  experience,  has  described  in 
his  biography  as  well  as  in  his  novel,  sat  heavy 
upon  her,  as  it  had  on  many  a  true  believer  be- 
fore her.  So  deep  was  the  gloom,  so  paralyzing 
the  languor,  that  at  last  she  gave  up  all  endeavor 
to  utter  words  of  prayer,  the  placed  her  cruci- 
fix at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  and  laid  herself  down 
on  the  ground  and  kissed 'His  feet;  then,  draw- 
ing back,  gazed  upon  that  effigy  of  the  mortal 
sufferings  of  our  Redeemer. 

"  O  anima  Christiana,  respice  vulnera  patien- 
tis,  sanguinem  morientis,  precem  redemption^ 
nostra?. " 

She  had  lain  ihis  a  good  half  hour,  when  a 
gentle  tap  came  to  the  door. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  said  she. 

"Mrs.  Menteith,"  the  jailer's  wife  replied, 
softly,  and  asked  leave  to  come  in. 

Now  this  Mrs.  Menteith  had  been  very  kind 
to  her,  and  stoutly  maintained  her  innocence. 
Mrs.  Gaunt  rose  and  invited  her  in. 

"Madam,"  said  Mrs.  Menteith,  "what  I 
come  for,  there  is  a  person  below  who  much  de- 
sires to  see  you." 

"I  beg  to  be  excused,"  was  the  reply.  " He 
must  go  to  my  solicitor  at  the  'Angel,'  Mr. 
Houseman." 

Mrs.  Menteith  retired  with  that  message,  but 
in  about  five  minutes  returned  to  say  that  the 
young  woman  declined  to  go  to  Mr.  Houseman, 
and  begged  hard  to  see  Mrs.  Gaunt.  "And. 
dame."  said  she, "if  I  were  you  I'd  let  her  come 
in ;  'tis  the  honestest  face,  and  the  tears  in  her 
soft  eyes  at  your  denying  her.  '  Oh  dear,  dear,' 
said  she,  '1  can  not  tell  my  errand  to  any  but 
her. ' " 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt ;  "but  what  is 
her  business  ?" 

"If  you  ask  me,  I  think  her  business  is  your 
business.  Come,  dame,  do  see  the  poor  thing ; 
she  is  civil  spoken,  and  she  tells  me  she  has 
come  all  the  way  out  o'  Lancashire  o'  purpose." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  recoiled  as  if  she  had  been  stung. 

"From  Lancashire?-'  said  she,  faintly. 


130 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"  Ay,  madam,"  said  Mrs.  Menteith, "  and  that 
is  a  long  road ;  and  a  child  upon  her  arm  all  the 
way,  poor  thing!" 

" Her  name?"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  sternly. 

"  Oh,  she  is  not  ashamed  of  it.  She  gave  it 
me  directly." 

"  What !  has  she  the  effrontery  to  take  my 
name  ?" 


"Well,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  do,'* 
said  Mrs.  Menteith.  "She  says  she  will  lie  at 
your  door  all  night  hut  she  will  see  you.  'Tis 
the  face  of  a  friend.  She  may  know  something. 
It  seems  hard  to  thrust  her  and  her  child  out 
into  the  street,  after  their  coming  all  the  way 
from  Lancashire." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  stood  silent  a  while,  and  her  in- 


Mrs 
ment. 


Menteith  stared  at  her  with  utter  amaze- 


Your  name 


id  sh 


Tis  a  sim- 
-Mercy 


pie  country  body,  and  her  name  is  Vint- 
Vint." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  was  very  much  agitated,  and  said 
she  felt  quite  unequal  to  see  a  stranger. 


telligence  had  a  severe  combat  with  her  deep 
repugnance  to  be  in  the  same  room  with  Griffith 
Gaunt's  mistress  (so  she  considered  her).  But 
a  certain  curiosity  came  to  the  aid  of  her  good 
sense ;  and,  after  all,  she  was  a  brave  and  haugh- 
ty woman,  and  her  natural  courage  began  to  rise. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUS 


1ST.' 


131 


She  thought  to  herself,  ' '  What !  dare  she  come 
to  me  all  this  way,  and  shall  I  shrink  from  her  f " 

She  turned  to  Mrs.  Menteith  with  a  bitter 
smile,  and  she  said,  very  slowly,  and  clenching 
her  white  teeth,  "  Since  you  desire  it,  and  she 
insists  on  it,  I  will  receive  Mistress  Mercy  Vint." 

Mrs.  Menteith  went  off,  and  in  about  five 
minutes  returned  ushering  in  Mercy  Vint  in  a 
hood  and  traveling  cloak. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  received  her  standing,  and  with  a 
very  formal  courtesy,  to  which  Mercy  made  a 
quiet  obeisance,  and  both  women  looked  one  an- 
other all  over  in  a  moment. 

Mrs.  Menteith  lingered,  to  know  what  on  earth 
this  was  all  about ;  but,  as  neither  spoke  a  word, 
and  their  eyes  were  fixed  on  each  other,  she  di- 
vined that  her  absence  was  necessary,  and  so  re- 
tired slowly,  looking  very  much  amazed  at  both 
of  them. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

"Be  seated,  mistress,  if  you  please,"  said  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  with  icy  civility,  "and  let  me  know  to 
what  I  owe  this  extraordinary  visit." 

"I  thank  you,  dame,"  said  Mercy,  "for  in- 
deed I  am  sore  fatigued. "  She  sat  quietly  down. 
"Why  I  have  come  to  you?  It  was  to  serve 
you,  and  to  keep  my  word  with  George  Neville. " 

"Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  explain?"  said 
Mrs.  Gaunt,  in  a  freezing  tone,  and  with  a  look 
of  her  great  gray  eye  to  match. 

Mercy  felt  chilled,  and  was  too  frank  to  dis- 
guise it.  "  Alas !"  said  she,  softly,  "  'tis  hard  to 
be  received  so,  and  me  come  all  the  way  from 
Lancashire,  with  a  heart  like  lead,  to  do  my  duty, 
God  willing." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  her  mellow 
voice  was  sweet  and  patient. 

The  gentle  remonstrance  was  not  quite  with- 
out effect.  Mi*s.  Gaunt  colored  a  little.  She 
said,  stiffly,  "  Excuse  me  if  I  seem  discourteous, 
but  you  and  I  ought  not  to  be  in  one  room  a 
moment.  You  do  not  see  this,  apparently.  But 
at  least  I  have  a  right  to  insist  that  such  an  in- 
terview shall  be  very  brief,  and  to  the  purpose. 
Oblige  me,  then,  by  telling  me  in  plain  terms  why 
you  have  come  hither." 

"  Madam,  to  be  your  witness  at  the  trial." 

"  You  to  be  my  witness  ?" 

' '  Why  not,  if  I  can  clear  you  ?  What,  would 
you  rather  be  condemned  for  murder  than  let  me 
show  them  you  are  innocent  ?  Alas !  how  you 
hate  me." 

"Hate  you,  child ?"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt,  coloring 
to  her  temples  ;  "  of  course  I  hate  you.  We  are 
both  of  us  flesh  and  blood,  and  hate  one  another ; 
and  one  of  us  is  honest  enough,  and  uncivil 
enough,  to  say  so." 

"Speak  for  yourself,  dame,"  replied  Mercy, 
quietly,  "for  I  hate  you  not ;  and  I  thank  God 
for  it.  To  hate  is  to  be  miserable.  I'd  liever  be 
hated  than  to  hate." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  looked  at  her.  "  Your  words  are 
goodly  and  wise,"  said  she;  "your  face  is  hon- 
est ;  and  your  eyes  are  like  a  very  dove's.  But, 
for  all  that,  you  hate  me  quietly,  with  all  your 
heart.     Human  nature  is  human  nature. " 

" 'Tis  so.  But  grace  is  grace."  Mercy  was 
silent  a  moment,  then  resumed :  "I'll  not  deny  I 
did  hate  you  for  a  time,  when  first  I  learned  the 


man  I  had  married  had  a  wife,  and  you  were  she. 
We  that  be  women  are  too  unjust  to  each  other, 
and  too  indulgent  to  a  man.  But  I  have  worn 
out  my  hate.  I  wrestled  in  prayer,  and  the  God 
of  Love  he  did  quench  my  most  unreasonable 
hate.  For  'twas  the  man  betrayed  me ;  you  never 
wronged  me,  nor  I  you.  But  you  are  right, 
madam ;  'tis  true  that  nature  without  grace  is 
black  as  pitch  :  the  devil  he  was  busy  at  my  ear, 
and  whispered  me,  '  If  the  fools  in  Cumberland 
hang  her,  what  fault  o'  thine  ?  Thou  wilt  be  his 
lawful  wife,  and  thy  poor  innocent  child  will  be 
a  child  of  shame  no  more. '  But,  by  God's  grace,  I 
did  defy  him,  and  I  do  defy  him."  She  rose  swift- 
ly from  her  chair,  and  her  'dove's  eyes  gleamed 
with  celestial  light.  "  Get  thee  behind  me  Satan. 
I  tell  thee  the  hangman  shall  never  have  her  in- 
nocent body,  nor  thou  my  soul. " 

The  movement  was  so  unexpected,  the  words 
and  the  look  so  simply  noble,  that  Mrs.  Gaunt 
rose  too,  and  gazed  upon  her  visitor  with  aston- 
ishment and  respect,  yet  still  with  a  dash  of 
doubt. 

She  thought  to  herself,  "  If  this  creature  is 
not  sincere,  what  a  mistress  of  deceit  she  must 
be!" 

But  Mercy  Vint  soon  returned  to  her  quiet 
self.  She  sat  down,  and  said  gravely,  and,  for 
the  first  time,  a  little  coldly,  as  one  who  had  de- 
served well  and  been  received  ill,  "  Mistress 
Gaunt,  you  are  accused  of  murdering  your  hus- 
band. 'Tis  false,  for  two  days  ago  I  saw  him 
alive." 

' '  What  do  you  say  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Gaunt,  trem- 
bling all  over. 

"Be  brave,  madam;  you  have  borne  great 
trouble ;  do  not  give  way  under  joy.  He  who 
has  wronged  us  both — he  who  wedded  you  under 
his  own  name  of  Griffith  Gaunt,  and  me  under 
the  false  name  of  Thomas  Leicester,  is  no  more 
dead  than  Ave  are ;  I  saw  him  two  days  ago,  and 
spoke  to  him,  and  persuaded  him  to  come  to 
Carlisle  town  and  do  you  justice. " 

Mrs.  Gaunt  fell  on  her  knees.  "  He  is  alive — 
he  is  alive.  Thank  God  !  oh,  thank  God !  He 
is  alive  ;  and  God  bless  the  tongue  that  tells  me 
so.     God  bless  you  eternally,  Mercy  Vint. " 

The  tears  of  joy  streamed  down  her  face,  and 
then  Mercy's  flowed  too.  She  uttered  a  little 
pathetic  cry-  of  joy.  "  Ah !"  she  sobbed, "  the  bit 
of  comfort  I  needed  so  has  come  to  my  heavy 
heart.     She  has  blessed  me !" 

But  she  said  this  very  softly,  and  Mrs.  Gaunt 
was  in  a  rapture,  and  did  not  hear  her. 

"  Is  it  a  dream  ?  My  husband  alive,  and  you 
the  one  to  come  and  tell  me  so  ?  How  unjust  I 
have  been  to  you.  Forgive  me.  Why  does  lie 
not  come  himself?" 

Mercy  colored  at  this  question,  and  hesitated. 

' '  Well,  dame, "  said  she, ' '  for  one  thing,  he  has 
been  on  the  fuddle  for  the  last  two  months." 

"  On  the  fuddle  ?" 

"Ay;  he  owns  he  has  never  been  sober  a 
whole  day,  and  that  takes  the  heart  out  of  a  man 
as  well  as  the  brains.  And  then  he  has  got  it 
into  his  head  that  you  will  never  forgive  him, 
and  that  he  shall  be  cast  in  prison  if  he  shows 
his  face  in  Cumberland. " 

' '  Why  in  Cumberland  more  than  in  Lanca- 
shire ?"  asked  Mrs.  Gaunt,  biting  her  lip. 

Mercy  blushed  faintly.    She  replied  with  some 


132 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


delicacy,  but  did  not  altogether  mince  the  mat- 
ter. 

"  He  knows  I  shall  never  punish  him  for  what 
he  has  done  to  me." 

' '  Why  not  ?  I  begin  to  think  he  has  wronged 
you  almost  as  much  as  he  has  me." 

"  Worse,  madam — worse.  He  has  robbed  me 
of  my  good  name.  You  are  still  his  lawful  wife, 
and  none  can  point  the  finger  at  you.  But  look 
at  me :  I  was  an  honest  girl,  respected  by  all  the 
parish.  What  has  he  made  of  me  ?  The  man 
that  lay  a  dying  in  my  house,  and  I  saved  his 
life,  and  so  my  heart  did  warm  to  him,  he  blas- 
phemed God's  altar  to  deceive  and  betray  me ; 
and  here  I  am,  a  poor  forlorn  creature,  neither 
maid,  wife,  nor  widow,  with  a  child  on  my  arms 
that  I  do  nothing  but  cry  over ;  ay,  my  poor  in- 
nocent, I  left  thee  down  below,  because  I  was 
ashamed  she  should  see  thee — ah  me!  ah  me!" 
She  lifted  up  her  voice  and  wept. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  looked  at  her  wistfully,  and,  like 
Mercy  before  her,  had  a  bitter  struggle  with  hu- 
man nature — a  struggle  so  sharp  that,  in  the 
midst  of  it,  she  burst  out  crying  with  strange  vi- 
olence ;  but,  with  that  burst,  her  great  soul  con- 
quered. 

She  darted  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Mercy  as- 
tonished at  her  abrupt  departure. 

Mercy  was  patiently  drying-her  eyes,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  judge  her  surprise  when  she 
saw  Mrs.  Gaunt  glide  into  the  room  with  her  lit- 
tle boy  asleep  in  her  arms,  and  an  expression 
upon  her  face  more  sublime  than  any  thing  Mer- 
cy Vint  had  ever  yet  seen  on  earth.  She  kissed 
the  babe  softly,  and,  becoming  infantine  as  well 
as  angelic  by  this  contact,  sat  herself  down  in  a 
moment  on  the  floor  with  him,  and  held  out  her 
hand  to  Mercy.  ' '  There, "  said  she,  ' '  ccme  sit 
beside  us,  and  see  how  I  hate  him ;  no  more  than 
you  do — sweet  innocent." 

They  looked  him  all  over,  discussed  his  every 
feature  learnedly,  kissed  his  limbs  and  extremi- 
ties after  the  manner  of  their  sex,  and  compre- 
hending at  last  that  to  have  been  both  of  them 
wronged  by  one  man  was  a  bond  of  sympathy, 
not  hate, -the  two  wives  of  Griffith  Gaunt  laid 
his  child  across  their  two  laps,  and  Avept  over  him 
together. 

Mercy  Vint  took  herself  to  task.  "  I  am  but 
a  selfish  woman,"  said  she,  "  to  talk  or  think  of 
any  thing  but  that  I  came  here  for. "  She  then 
proceeded  to  show  Mrs.  Gaunt  by  what  means 
she  proposed  to  secure  her  acquittal  without  get- 
ting Griffith  Gaunt  into  trouble. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  listened  with  keen  and  grateful 
attention  until  she  came  to  that  part,  then  she 
interrupted  her  eagerly. 

' '  Don't  spare  him  for  me.  In  your  place  I'd 
trounce  the  villain  finely." 

"Ay,"  said  Mercy,  "and  then  forgive  him. 
But  I  am  different.  I  shall  never  forgive  him ; 
but  I  am  a  poor  hand  at  punishing  and  reveng- 
ing. I  always  was.  My  name  is  Mercy,  you 
know.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was  to  have  been 
called  Prudence,  after  my  good  aunt ;  but  she 
said  nay :  she  had  lived  to  hear  Greed,  and  Self- 
ishness, and  a  heap  of  faults  named  Prudence  : 
'  call  the  child  something  that  means  what  it  does 
mean,  and  not  after  me,'  quoth  she.  So  with  me 
hearing  'Mercy,  Mercy,'  called  out  after  me  so  | 
many  years,  I  do  think  the  quality  hath  somehow  I 


got  under  my  skin,  for  I  can't  abide  to  see  folk 
smart,  let  alone  to  strike  the  blow.  What!  shall 
I  take  the  place  of  God,  and  punish  the  evil-doers 
because  'tis  me  they  wrong  ?  Nay,  dame,  I  will 
never  punish  him,  though  he  hath  wronged  me 
cruelly  ;  all  I  shall  do  is  to  think  very  ill  of  him, 
and  shun  him,  and  tear  his  memory  out  of  my 
heart.  You  look  at  me;  do  you  think  I  can  not? 
You  don't  know  me.  I  am  very  resolute  when 
I  see  clear.  Of  course  I  loved  him — loved  him 
dearly.  He  was  like  a  husband  to  me,  and  a 
kind  one.  But  the  moment  I  knew  how  basely 
he  had  deceived  us  both,  my  heart  began  to  turn 
against  the  man,  and  now  'tis  ice  to  him.  Heaven 
knows  what  I  am  made  of;  for,  believe  me,  I'd 
liever  ten  times  be  beside  you  than  beside  him. 
My  heart  it  lay  like  a  lump  of  lead  till  I  heard 
your  story,  and  found  I  could  do  you  a  good 
turn — you  that  he  had  wronged  as  well  as  me. 
I  read  your  beautiful  eyes;  but  nay,  fear  me  not ; 
I'm  not  the  woman  to  pine  for  the  fruit  that  is 
my  neighbor's.  All  I  ask  for  on  earth  is  a  few 
kind  words  and  looks  from  you.  You  are  gentle 
and  I  am  simple,  but  we  are  both  one  flesh  and 
blood,  and  your  lovely  wet  eyes  do  prove  it  this 
moment.  Dame  Gaunt — Kate — I  ne'er  was  ten 
miles  from  home  afore,  and  I  am  come  all  this 
weary  way  to  serve  thee.  Oh,  give  me  the  one 
thing  that  can  do  me  good  in  this  world,  the  one 
thing  I  pine  for — a  little  of  your  love." 

The  words  were  scarce  out  of  her  lips  when 
Mrs.  Gaunt  caught  her  impetuously  round  the 
neck  with  both  hands,  and  laid  her  on  that  erring 
but  noble  heart  of  hers,  and  kissed  her  eagerly. 

They  kissed  one  another  again  and  again,  and 
wept  over  one  another. 

And  now  Mrs.  Gaunt,  who  did  nothing  by 
halves,  could  not  make  enough  of  Mercy  Vint. 
She  ordered  supper,  and  ate  with  her  to  make 
her  eat.  Mrs.  Menteith  offered  Mercy  a  bed,  but 
Mrs.  Gaunt  said  she  must  lie  with  her,  she  and 
her  child. 

"  What !"  said  she, "  think  you  I'll  let  you  out 
of  my  sight  ?  Alas  !  who  knows  when  you  and 
I  shall  ever  be  together  again  ?" 

"  I  know,"  said  Mercy,  very  gravely.  "In  this 
world — never. " 

They  slept  in  one  bed,  and  held  each  other  by 
the  hand  all  night,  and  talked  to  one  another, 
and  in  the  morning  knew  each  the  other's  story, 
and  each  the  other's  mind  and  character,  better 
than  their  oldest  acquaintances  knew  either  the 
one  or  the  other. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

The  trial  began  again,  and  the  court  was 
crowded  to  suffocation.  All  eyes  were  bent  on 
the  prisoner.  She  rose,  calm  and  quiet,  and 
begged  leave  to  say  a  few  words  to  the  court. 

Mr.  Whitworth  objected  to  that.  She  had 
concluded  her  address  yesterday,  and  called  a 
witness. 

Prisoner.  But  I  have  not  examined  a  witness 
yet. 

The  Judge.  You  come  somewhat  out  of  time, 
madam,  but,  if  you  will  bo  brief,  we  will  hear  you. 

Prisoner.  I  thank  you,  my  lord.  It  was  only 
to  withdraw  an  error.  The  cry  for  help  that  was 
heard  by  the  side  of  Hernshaw  Mere,  I  said,  yes- 
terday, that  cry  was  uttered  by  Thomas  Leicester. 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


133 


Well,  I  find  I  was  mistaken  ;  the  cry  for  help  was 
uttered  by  my  husband — by  that  Griffith  Gaunt 
I  am  accused  of  assassinating. 

This  extraordinary  admission  caused  a  great 
sensation  in  court.  The  judge  looked  grave  and 
s:id ;  and  Sergeant  Wiltshire,  who  came  into  court 
just  then,  whispered  his  junior,  "She  has  put  the 
rope  round  her  own  neck.  The  jury  would  never 
have  believed  our  witness. " 

The  Prisoner.  I  will  only  add  that  a  person 
came  into  the  town  last  night  who  knows  a  great 
deal  more  about  this  mysterious  business  than  I 
do.  I  purpose,  therefore,  to  alter  the  line  of  my 
defense ;  and,  to  save  your  time,  my  lord,  who 
have  dealt  so  courteously  with  me,  I  shall  call  but 
a  single  witness. 

Ere  the  astonishment  caused  by  this  sudden 
collapse  of  the  defense  was  in  any  degree  abated, 
she  called  "Mercy  Vint." 

There  was  the  usual  stir  and  struggle,  and  then 
the  calm,  self-possessed  face  and  figure  of  a  come- 
ly young  woman  confronted  the  court.  She  was 
sworn,  and  examined  by  the  prisoner  after  this 
fashion. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?" 

"At  the  '  Fackhorse,'  near  Allerton,  in  Lan- 
cashire." 

Prisoner.  Do  you  know  Mr.  Griffith  Gaunt  ? 

Mercy.   Madam,  I  do. 

Prisoner.  Was  he  at  your  place  in  October 
last  ? 

Mercy.  Yes,  madam,  on  the  thirteenth  of 
October.     On  that  day  he  left  for  Cumberland. 

Prisoner.  On  foot,  or  on  horseback  ? 

Mercy.  On  horseback. 

Prisoner.  With  boots  on,  or  shoes? 

Mercy.  He  had  a  pair  of  new  boots  on. 

Prisoner.  Ho  you  know  Thomas  Leicester  ? 

Mercy.  A  peddler  called  at  our  house  on  the 
eleventh  of  October,  and  he  said  his  name  was 
Thomas  Leicester. 

Prisoner.  How  was  he  shod  ? 

Mercy.   In  hobnailed  shoes. 

Prisoner.  Which  way  went  he  on  leaving  you  ? 

■Mercy.  Madam,  he  went  northward;  1  know 
no  more  for  certain. 

Prisoner.  When  did  you  see  Mr.  Gaunt  last  ? 

Mercy.  Four  days  ago. 

2 he  Judge.  What  is  that?  you  saw  him  alive 
four  days  ago. 

Mercy.  Ay,  my  lord ;  the  last  Wednesday  that 
ever  was. 

At  this  the  people  burst  out  into  a  loud,  agi- 
tated murmur,  and  their  heads  went  to  and  fro 
all  the  time.  In  vain  the  crier  cried  and  threat- 
ened. The  noise  rose  and  surged,  and  took  its 
course.  It  went  down  gradually  as  amazement 
gave  way  to  curiosity,  and  then  there  was  a  re- 
markable silence,  and  then  the  silvery  voice  of 
the  prisoner  and  the  mellow  tones  of  the  witness 
appeared  to  penetrate  the  very  walls  of  the  build- 
ing, each  syllable  of  those  two  beautiful  speakers 
was  heard  so  distinctly. 

Prisoner.  Be  so  good  as  to  tell  the  court  what 
passed  on  Wednesday  last  between  Griffith  Gaunt 
and  you,  relative  to  this  charge  of  murder. 

Mercy.  I  let  him  know  one  George  Neville  had 
come  from  Cumberland  in  search  of  him,  and  had 
told  me  you  lay  in  Carlisle  jail  charged  with  his 
murder.  I  did  urge  him  to  ride  at  once  to  Car- 
lisle and  show  himself,  but  he  refused.  He  made 
light  of  the  matter.     Then  I  told  him,  Not  so  ; 


the  circumstances  looked  ugly,  and  your  life  was 
in  peril.  Then  he  said  Nay,  'twas  in  no  peril,  for 
if  you  were  to  be  found  guilty,  then  he  would 
show  himself  on  the  instant.  Then  I  told  him 
he  was  not  worthy  the  name  of  a  man,  and  if  he 
woidd  not  go,  I  would.  ' '  Go  you,  by  all  means, " 
said  he,  "and  I'll  give  you  a  writing  that  will 
clear  her.  Jack  Houseman  will  be  there,  that 
knows  my  hand ;  and  so  does  the  sheriff,  and 
half  the  grand  jury  at  the  least." 

Prisoner.  Have  you  that  writing? 

Mercy.  To  be  sure  I  have.     Here  'tis. 

Prisoner.  Be  pleased  to  read  it. 

The  Judge.  Stay  a  minute.  Shall  you  prove 
it  to  be  his  handwriting  ? 

Prisoner.  Ay,  my  lord,  by  as  many  as  you 
please. 

The  Judge.  Then  let  that  stand  over  for  the 
present.     Let  me  see  it. 

It  was  handed  up  to  him ;  and  he  showed  it 
to  the  sheriff,  who  said  he  thought  it  was  Grif- 
fith Gaunt's  writing. 

The  paper  was  then  read  out  to  the  jury.  It 
ran  as  follows : 

"  Know  all  men,  that  I,  Griffith  Gaunt,  Esq., 
of  Bolton  Hall  and  Hernshaw  Castle,  in  the  coun- 
ty of  Cumberland,  am  alive  and  well ;  and  the 
matter  which  has  so  puzzled  the  good  folk  in 
Cumberland  befell  as  follows :  I  left  Hernshaw 
Castle  in  the  dead  of  night  upon  the  fifteenth  of 
October — why,  is  no  man's  business  but  mine.  I 
found  the  stable  locked,  so  I  left  my  horse  and 
went  on  foot.  I  crossed  Hernshaw  Mere  by  the 
bridge,  and  had  got  about  a  hundred  yards,  as  I 
suppose,  on  the  way,  when  I  heard  some  one  fall 
with  a  great  splash  into  the  mere,  and  soon  after 
cry  dolefully  for  help.  I,  that  am  no  swimmer, 
ran  instantly  to  the  north  side  to  a  clump  of 
trees,  where  a  boat  used  always  to  be  kept.  But 
the  boat  was  not  there.  Then  I  cried  lustily  for 
help,  and,  as  no  one  came,  I  fired  my  pistol  and 
cried  murder !  for  I  had  heard  men  will  come 
sooner  to  that  cry  than  to  any  other.  But,  in 
truth,  I  was  almost  out  of  my  wits  that  a  fellow- 
creature  should  perish  miserably  so  near  me. 
While  I  ran  wildly  to  and  fro,  some  came  out  of 
the  castle  bearing  torches.  By  this  time  I  was 
at  the  bridge,  but  saw  no  signs  of  the  drowning 
man  ;  yet  the  night  was  clear.  Then  I  knew 
that  his  fate  was  sealed ;  and,  for  reasons  of  my 
own,  not  choosing  to  be  seen  by  those  who  were 
coming  to  his  aid,  I  hastened  from  the  place. 
My  happiness  being  gone,  and  my  conscience 
smiting  me  sore,  and  not  knowing  whither  to 
turn,  I  took  to  drink,  and  fell  into  bad  ways, 
and  lived  like  a  brute,  and  not  a  man,  for  six 
weeks  or  more,  so  that  I  never  knew  of  the  good 
fortune  that  had  fallen  on  me  when  least  I  de- 
served it — I  mean  by  old  Mr.  Gaunt  of  Coggles- 
wade  making  of  me  his  heir.  But  one  day  at 
Kendall  saw  Mercy  Yint's  advertisement,  and  I 
went  to  her,  and  learned  that  my  wife  lay  in  Car- 
lisle jail  for  my  supposed  murder.  But  I  say  that 
she  is  innocent,  and  nowise  to  blame  in  this  mat- 
ter, for  I  deserved  every  hard  word  she  ever  gave 
me ;  and  as  for  killing,  she  is  a  spirited  woman 
with  her  tongue,  but  hath  not  the  heart  to  kill  a 
fly.  She  is  what  she  always  was,  the  pearl  of 
womankind  —  a  virtuous,  innocent,  and  noble 
lady.  I  have  lost  the  treasure  of  her  love  by  my 
fault,  not  hers  ;  but,  at  least,  I  have  a  right  to 


134 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


defend  her  life  and  honor.  Whoever  molests  her 
after  this,  out  of  pretended  regard  for  me,  is  a 
liar,  and  a  fool,  and  no  friend  of  mine,  but  my 
enemy,  and  I  his — to  the  death. 

''Griffith  Gaunt." 

It  was  a  day  of  surprises.  This  tribute  from 
the  murdered  man  to  his  assassin  was  one  of 
them.  People  looked  in  one  another's  faces 
open-eyed. 

The  prisoner  looked  in  the  judge's,  and  acted 
on  what  she  saw  there.  "  That  is  my  defense," 
said  she,  quietly,  and  sat  down. 

If  a  show  of  hands  had  been  called  at  that 
moment,  she  would  have  been  acquitted  by  ac- 
clamation. 

But  Mr.  Whitworth  was  a  zealous  young  bar- 
rister, burning  for  distinction.  He  stuck  to  his 
case,  and  cross-examined  Mercy  Vint  with  se- 
verity— indeed,  with  asperity. 

Whitworth.  What  are  you  to  receive  for  this 
evidence  ? 

Mercy.  Anan. 

Whitworth.  Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean.  Are 
you  not  to  be  paid  for  telling  us  this  romance  ? 

Mercy.  Nay,  sir,  I  ask  naught  for  telling  of 
the  truth. 

Whitworth.  You  were  in  the  prisoner's  com- 
pany yesterday  ? 

Mercy.  Yes,  sir,  I  did  visit  her  in  the  jail  last 
night. 

Whitworth.  And  there  concerted  this  ingen- 
ious defense  ? 

Mercy.  Well,  sir,  for  that  matter,  I  told  her 
that  her  man  was  alive,  and  I  did  offer  to  be  her 
witness. 

Whitworth.  For  naught  ? 

Mercy.  For  no  money  or  reward,  if  'tis  that 
you  mean.  Why,  'tis  a  joy  beyond  money  to 
clear  an  innocent  body  and  save  her  life,  and  that 
satisfaction  is  mine  this  day. 

Whitworth  (sarcastically).  These  are  very  fine 
sentiments  for  a  person  in  your  condition.  Con- 
fess that  Mrs.  Gaunt  primed  you  with  all  that. 

Mercy.  Nay,  sir,  I  left  home  in  that  mind, 
else  I  had  not  come  at  all.  Bethink  you,  'tis  a 
long  journey  for  One  in  my  way  of  life,  and  this 
dear  child  on  my  arm  all  the  way. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  sat  boiling  with  indignation.  But 
Mercy's  good  temper  and  meekness  parried  the 
attack  that  time.  Mr.  Whitworth  changed  his 
line. 

Whitworth.  You  ask  the  jury  to  believe  that 
Griffith  Gaunt,  Esquire,  a  gentleman,  and  a  man 
of  spirit  and  honor,  is  alive,  yet  skulks  and  sends 
you  hither,  when  by  showing  his  face  in  this 
court  he  could  clear  his  wife  without  a  single 
word  spoken  ? 

Mercy.  Yes,  sir,  I  do  hope  to  be  believed,  for  I 
speak  the  naked  truth.  But,  with  due  respect  to 
you,  Mr.  Gaunt  did  not  send  me  hither  against 
my  will.  I  could  not  bide  in  Lancashire  and  let 
an  innocent  woman  be  murdered  in  Cumberland. 

Whitworth.  Murdered,  quotha !  That  is  a  good 
jest.  I'd  have  you  to  know  we  punish  murders 
here,  not  do  them. 

Mercy.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that,  sir,  on  the  lady's 
account. 

Whitworth.  Come,  come.  You  pretend  you 
discovered  this  Griffith  Gaunt  alive  by  means 
of  an  advertisement.  If  so,  produce  the  adver- 
tisement. 


Mercy  Vint  colored,  and  cast  a  swift,  uneasy 
glance  at  Mrs.  Gaunt. 

Rapid  as  it  was,  the  keen  eye  of  the  counsel 
caught  it. 

"  Nay,  do  not  look  to  the  culprit  for  orders," 
said  he.  "  Produce  it,  or  confess  the  truth. 
Come,  you  never  advertised  for  him." 

"  Sir,  I  did  advertise  for  him." 

' '  Then  produce  the  advertisement. " 

"  Sir,  I  will  not,"  said  Mercy,  calmly. 

"  Then  I  shall  move  the  court  to  commit  you. " 

"For  what  offense,  if  you  please?" 

"For  perjury,  and  contempt  of  court." 

"lam  guiltless  of  either,  God  knows.  But  I 
will  not  show  the  advertisement. " 

The  Judge.  This  is  very  extraordinary.  Per- 
haps you  have  it  not  about  you." 

Mercy.  My  lord,  the  truth  is,  I  have  it  in  my 
bosom.  But,  if  I  show  it,  it  will  not  make  this 
matter  one  whit  clearer,  and  'twill  open  the 
wounds  of  two  poor  women.  'Tis  not  for  my- 
self; but  oh,  my  lord,  look  at  her — hath  she  not 
gone  through  grief  enow  ? 

The  appeal  was  made  with  a  quiet,  touching 
earnestness  that  affected  every  hearer.  But  the 
judge  had  a  duty  to  perform.  ' '  Witness, "  said 
he,  "  you  mean  well,  but  indeed  you  do  the  pris- 
oner an  injury  by  withholding  this  paper.  Be 
good  enough  to  produce  it  at  once." 

The  Prisoner  (with  a  deep  sigh).  Obey  my  lord. 

Mercy  (with  a  deep  sigh).  There,  sir !  May 
the  Lord  forgive  you  the  useless  mischief  you  are 
doing. 

Whitworth.  I  am  doing  my  duty,  young  wom- 
an. And  yours  is  to  tell  the  whole  truth,  and 
not  a  part  only. 

Mercy  (acquiescing).  That  is  true,  sir. 

Whitworth.  Why,  what  is  this  ?  'Tis  not  Mr. 
Gaunt  you  advertise  for  in  these  papers.  'Tis 
Thomas  Leicester. 

The  Judge.  What  is  that  ?   I  don't  understand. 

Whitworth.  Nor  I  neither. 

The  Judge.  Let  me  see  the  papers.  'Tis  Thom- 
as Leicester,  sure  enough. 

Whitworth.  And  you  mean  to  swear  that  Grif- 
fith Gaunt  answered  an  advertisement  inviting 
Thomas  Leicester  ? 

Mercy.  I  do.  Thomas  Leicester  was  the  name 
he  went  by  in  our  part. 

Whitworth.  What  ?  what  ?     You  are  jesting. 

Mercy.  Is  this  a  place  or  a  time  for  jesting  ? 
I  say  he  called  himself  Thomas  Leicester. 

Here  the  business  was  interrupted  again  by  a 
multitudinous  murmur  of  excited  voices.  Every 
body  was  whispering  astonishment  to  his  neigh- 
bor ;  and  the  whisper  of  a  great  crowd  has  the 
effect  of  a  loud  murmur. 

Whitworth.  Oh,  he  called  himself  Thomas  Lei- 
cester, did  he  ?  Then  what  makes  you  say  he  is 
Griffith  Gaunt? 

Mercy.  Well,  sir,  the  peddler,  whose  real  name 
was  Thomas  Leicester,  came  to  our  house  one 
day,  and  saw  his  picture,  and  knew  it,  and  said 
something  to  a  neighbor  that  raised  my  suspi- 
cions. When  he  came  home,  I  took  this  shirt  out 
of  a  drawer ;  'twas  the  shirt  he  wore,  when  he 
first  came  to  us.  'Tis  marked  "  G.  G."  (The 
shirt  was  examined.)  Said  I,  "For  God's  sake 
speak  the  truth :  what  does  G.  G.  stand  for  ?" 
Then  he  told  me  his  real  name  was  Griffith 
Gaunt,  and  he  had  a  wife  in  Cumberland.  "  Go 
back  to  her,"  said  I,  "and  ask  her  to  forgive 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


135 


you."  Then  he  rode  north,  and  I  never  saw  him 
again  till  last  Wednesday. 

With 'worth  (satirically).  You  seem  to  have  heen 
mighty  intimate  with  this  Thomas  Leicester, 
whom  you  now  call  Griffith  Gaunt.  May  I  ask 
what  was,  or  is,  the  nature  of  your  connection 
with  him  ? 

Mercy  was  silent. 

Whitworth.  I  must  press  for  a  reply,  that  we 
may  know  what  value  to  attach  to  your  most  ex- 
traordinary evidence.  W  ere  you  his  wife — or  his 
mistress  ? 

Mercy.  Indeed  I  hardly  know ;  but  not  his 
mistress,  or  I  should  not  be  here. 

Whitworth.  You  don't  know  whether  you  were 
married  to  the  man  or  not  ? 

Mercy.  I  do  not  say  so.     But — 

She  hesitated,  and  cast  a  piteous  look  at  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  who  sat  boiling  with  indignation. 

At  this  look,  the  prisoner,  who  had  long  con- 
tained herself  with  difficulty,  rose,  with  scarlet 
cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  in  defense  of  her  wit- 
ness, and  flung  her  prudence  to  the  wind. 

"Fie,  sir,"  she  cried.  "The  woman  you  in- 
sult is  as  pure  as  your  own  mother,  or  mine. 
She  deserves  the  pity,  the  respect,  the  veneration 
of  all  good  men.  Know,  my  lord,  that  my  mis- 
erable husband  deceived  and  married  her  under 
the  false  name  he  had  taken  ;  she  has  the  mar- 
riage certificate  in  her  bosom.  Pray  make  her 
show  it,  whether  she  will  or  not.  My  lord,  this 
Mercy  Vint  is  more  an  angel  than  a  woman.  I 
am  her  rival  after  a  manner ;  yet  out  of  the  good- 
ness and  greatness  of  her  noble  heart,  she  came 
all  that  way  to  save  me  from  an  unjust  death. 
And  is  such  a  woman  to  be  insulted  ?  I  blush 
for  the  hired  advocate  who  can  not  see  his  supe- 
rior in  an  incorruptible  witness,  a  creature  all 
truth,  piety,  purity,  unselfishness,  and  goodness. 
Yes,  sir,  you  began  by  insinuating  that  she  was 
as  venal  as  yourself,  for  you  are  one  that  can  be 
bought  by  the  first  comer ;  and  now  you  would 
cast  a  slur  on  her  chastity.  For  shame !  for 
shame !  This  is  one  of  those  rare  women  that 
adorn  our  whole  sex,  and  embellish  human  na- 
ture ;  and,  so  long  as  you  have  the  privilege  of 
exchanging  words  with  her,  I  shall  stand  here  on 
the  watch,  to  see  that  you  treat  her  with  due  re- 
spect— ay,  sir,  with  reverence  ;  for  I  have  meas- 
ured you  both,  and  she  is  as  much  your  superior 
as  she  is  mine." 

This  amazing  burst  was  delivered  with  such 
prodigious  fire  and  rapidity  that  nobody  was  self- 
possessed  enough  to  stop  it  in  time.  It  Avas  like 
a  furious  gust  of  words  sweeping  over  the  court. 

Mr.  Whitworth,  pale  with  anger,  merely  said, 
"  Madam,  the  good  taste  of  these  remarks  I  leave 
the  court  to  decide  upon.  But  you  can  not  be 
allowed  to  give  evidence  in  your  own  defense." 

"No;  but  in  hers  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt ; 
"no  power  shall  hinder  me." 

The  Judge  (coldly).  Had  you  not  better  go  on 
cross-examining  the  witness. 

Whitworth.  Let  me  see  your  marriage  certifi- 
cate, if  you  have  one. 

It  was  handed  to  him. 

"  Well,  now,  how  do  you  know  that  this  Thom- 
as Leicester  was  Griffith  Gaunt  ?" 

The  Judge.  Why,  she  has  told  you  he  con- 
fessed it  to  her. 

Mercy.  Yes,  my  lord  ;  and,  besides,  he  wrote 
me  two  letters  signed  Thomas  Leicester.     Here 


they  are,  and  I  desire  they  may  be  compared 
with  the  paper  he  wrote  last  Wednesday,  and 
signed  Griffith  Gaunt.  And  more  than  that, 
while  we  lived  together  as  man  and  wife,  one 
Hamilton,  a  traveling  painter,  took  our  portraits, 
his  and  mine.  I  have  brought  his  with  me.  Let 
his  friends  and  neighbors  look  on  this  portrait, 
and  say  whose  likeness  it  is.  What  I  say  and 
swear  is,  that  on  Wednesday  last  I  saw  and  'spoke 
with  that  Thomas  Leicester,  or  Griffith  Gaunt, 
whose  likeness  I  now  show  you. 

With  that  she  lifted  the  portrait  up,  and  show- 
ed it  to  all  the  court. 

Instantly  there  was  a  roar  of  recognition. 

It  was  one  of  those  hard  daubs  that  are  never- 
theless so  monstrously  like  the  originals. 

The  Judge  (to  Mr.  Whitworth).  Young  gen- 
tleman, we  are  all  greatly  obliged  to  you.  You 
have  made  the  prisoner's  case.  There  was  but 
one  weak  point  in  it ;  I  mean  the  prolonged  ab- 
sence of  Griffith  Gaunt.  You  have  now  account- 
ed for  that.  You  have  forced  a  very  truthful 
witness  to  depose  that  this  Gaunt  is  himself  a 
criminal,  and  is  hiding  from  fear  of  the  law. 
The  case  for  the  crown  is  a  mere  tissue  of  con- 
jectures, on  which  no  jury  could  safely  convict, 
even  if  there  was  no  defense  at  all.  Under  other 
circumstances  I  might  decline  to  receive  evidence 
at  second  hand  that  Griffith  Gaunt  is  alive ;  but 
here  such  evidence  is  sufficient,  for  it  lies  on  the 
crown  to  prove  the  man  dead  ;  but  you  have  only 
proved  that  he  was  alive  on  the  fifteenth  of  Oc- 
tober, and  that,  since  then,  somebody  is  dead  with 
shoes  on.  This  somebody  appears  on  the  bal- 
ance of  proof  to  be  Thomas  Leicester,  the  ped- 
dler ;  and  he  has  never  been  heard  of  since,  and 
Griffith  Gaunt  has.  Then  I  say  you  can  not 
carry  the  case  farther.  You  have  not  a  leg  to 
stand  on.     What  say  you,  Brother  Wiltshire  ? 

Wiltshire.  My  lord,  I  think  there  is  no  case 
against  the  prisoner,  and  thank  your  lordship 
for  relieving  me  of  a  very  unpleasant  task. 

The  question  of  guilty  or  not  guilty  was  then 
put  as  a  matter  of  form  to  the  jury,  who  instant- 
ly brought  the  pi'isoner  in  not  guilty. 

The  Judge.  Catharine  Gaunt,  you  leave  this 
court  without  a  stain,  and  with  our  sincere  re- 
spect and  sympathy.  I  much  regret  the  fear 
and  pain  you  have  been  put  to :  you  have  been 
terribly  punished  for  a  hasty  word.  Profit  now 
by  this  bitter  lesson  ;  and  may  Heaven  enable 
you  to  add  a  well-governed  spirit  to  your  many 
virtues  and  graces. 

He  half  rose  from  his  seat,  and  bowed  courte- 
ously to  her.  She  courtesied  reverently,  and  re- 
tired. 

He  then  said  a  few  words  to  Mercy  Vint. 

"Young  woman,  I  have  no  words  to  praise 
you  as  you  deserve.  You  have  shown  us  the 
beauty  of  the  female  character,  and,  let  me  add, 
the  beauty  of  the  Christian  religion.  You  have 
come  a  long  way  to  clear  the  innocent.  I  hope 
you  will  not  stop  there,  but  also  punish  the  guilty 
person,  on  whom  we  have  wasted  so  much  pity. " 

"Me,  my  lord!"  said  Mercy;  "I  would  not 
harm  a  hair  of  his  head  for  as  many  guineas  as 
there  be  hairs  in  mine." 

"Child,"  said  my  lord,  "thou  art  too  good 
ior  this  world ;  but  go  thy  ways,  and  God  bless 
thee." 

Thus  abruptly  ended  a  trial  that,  at  first,  had 
looked  so  formidable  for  the  accused. 


1SG 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


The  judge  now  retired  for  some  refreshment, 
and  while  he  was  gone,  Sir  George  Neville  dash- 
ed up  to  the  Town  Hall,  four  in  hand,  and  rush- 
ed in  by  the  magistrate's  door  with  a  peddler's 
pack  which  he  had  discovered  in  the  mere  a  few 
yards  from  the  spot  where  the  mutilated  body 
was  found. 

He  learned  the  prisoner  was  already  acquitted. 
He  left  the  pack  with  the  sheriff,  and  begged  him 
to  show  it  to  the  judge,  and  went  in  search  of 
Mrs.  Gaunt. 

He  found  her  in  the  jailer's  house.  She  and 
Mercy  Vint  were  seated  hand  in  hand.  He  start- 
ed at  first  sight  of  the  latter.  There  was  a  uni- 
versal shaking  of  hands  and  glistening  of  eyes. 
And,  when  this  was  over,  Mrs.  Gaunt  turned  to 
him  and  said  piteously,  "  She  will  go  back  to 
Lancashire  to-morrow  ;  nothing  I  can  say  will 
turn  her. " 

"No,  dame,"  said  Mercy,  quietly,  "Cumber- 
land is  no  place  for  me.  My  work  is  done  here. 
Our  paths  in  this  world  do  lie  apart.  George 
Neville,  persuade  her  to  go  home  at  once,  and 
not  trouble  about  me." 

"Indeed,  madam,"  said  Sir  George,  "she 
speaks  wisely  :  she  always  does.  My  carriage 
is  at  the  door,  and  the  people  waiting  by  thou- 
sands in  the  street  to  welcome  your  deliverance." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  drew  herself  up  with  fiery  and  bit- 
ter disdain. 

"Are  they  so?"  said  she,  grimly.  "Then 
1*11  balk  them.  I'll  steal  away  in  the  dead  of 
night.  No,  miserable  populace,  that  howls  and 
hisses  with  the  strong  against  the  weak,  you 
shall  have  no  part  in  my  triumph  ;  'tis  sacred  to 
my  friends.  You  honored  me  with  your  hoot- 
ings  ;  you  shall  not  disgrace  me  with  your  accla- 
mations. Here  I  stay  till  Mercy  Vint,  my  guard- 
ian angel,  leaves  me  forever." 

She  then  requested  Sir  George  to  order  his 
horses  back  to  the  inn,  and  the  coachman  was 
to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  start  when  the 
whole  town  should  be  asleep. 

Meantime  a  courier  was  dispatched  to  Hern- 
shaw Castle  to  prepare  for  Mrs.  Gaunt's  recep- 
tion. 

Mts.  Menteith  made  a  bed  up  for  Mercy  Vint, 
and  at  midnight,  when  the  coast  was  clear,  came 
the  parting. 

It  was  a  sad  one. 

Even  Mercy,  who  had  great  self-command, 
could  not  then  restrain  her  tears. 

To  apply  the  sweet  and  touching  words  of 
Scripture,  "They  sorrowed  most  of  all  for  this, 
that  they  should  see  each  other's  face  no  more. " 

Sir  George  accompanied  Mrs.  Gaunt  to  Hern- 
shaw. 

She  drew  back  into  her  comer  of  the  carriage, 
and  Tvas  very  silent  and  distraite. 

After  one  or  two  attempts  at  conversation,  he 
judged  it  wisest  and  even  most  polite  to  respect 
her  mood. 

At  last  she  "burst  out,  * '  I  can  not  bear  it,  I  can 
not  bear  it !" 

"  Why,  what  is  amiss?"  inquired  Sir  George. 

"  What  is  amiss  ?  Why,  'tis  all  amiss.  'Tis 
so  heartless,  so  ungrateful,  to  let  that  poor  angel 
go  home  to  Lancashire  all  alone,  now  she  has 
served  my  torn.  Sir  George,  do  not  think  I 
undervalue  your  company,  but  if  you  would  but 
take  her  home  instead  of  taking  me !  Poor 
thing,  she  is  brave;  but,  when  the  excitement 


of  her  good  action  is  over,  and  she  goes  back  the 
weary  road  all  alone,  what  desolation  it  will  be  I 
My  heart  bleeds  for  her.  I  know  I  am  an  un- 
conscionable woman  to  ask  such  a  thing ;  but 
then  you  are  a  true  chevalier ;  you  always  were ; 
and  you  saw  her  merit  directly ;  oh,  do  pray 
leave  me  to  slip  unnoticed  into  Hernshaw  Cas- 
tle, and  do  you  accompany  my  benefactress  to 
her  humble  home.  Will  you,  dear  Sir  George  ? 
T would  be  such  a  load  oft' my  heart." 

To  this  appeal,  uttered  with  trembling  lip  and 
moist  eyes,  Sir  George  replied  in  character.  He 
declined  to  desert  Mrs.  Gaunt  until  he  had  seen 
her  safe  home,  but  that  done,  he  would  ride  back 
to  Carlisle  and  escort  Mercy  home. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  sighed,  and  said  she  was  abusing 
his  friendship,  and  should  kill  him  with  fatigue, 
and  he  was  a  good  creature.  "  If  any  thing 
could  make  me  easy,  this  would, "  said  she  : 
"you  know  how  to  talk  to  a  woman,  and  com- 
fort her.  I  wish  I  was  a  man  ;  I'd  cure  her  of 
Griffith  before  we  reached  the  'Packhorse.' 
And,  now  I  think  of  it,  you  are  a  very  happy 
man  to  travel  eighty  miles  with  an  angel — a 
dove-eyed  angel." 

"I  am  a  happy  man  to  have  an  opportunity 
of  complying  with  your  desires,  madam,"  was 
the  demure  reply.  "  'Tis  not  often  you  do  me 
the  honor  to  lay  your  orders  on  me." 

After  this,  nothing  of  any  moment  passed  un- 
til they  reached  Hernshaw  Castle ;  and  then,  as 
they  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  saw  the  hall  blaz- 
ing with  lights,  Mrs.  Gaunt  laid  her  hand  softly 
on  Sir  George,  and  whispered, "  You  were  right. 
I  thank  you  for  not  leaving  me." 

The  servants  were  all  in  the  hall  to  receive 
their  mistress,  and  among  them  were  those  who 
had  given  honest  but  unfavorable  testimony  at 
the  trial,  being  called  by  the  crown.  These  had 
consulted  together,  and,  after  many  pros  and 
cons,  had  decided  that  they  had  better  not  fol- 
low their  natural  impulse  and  hide  from  her  face, 
since  that  might  be  a  fresh  offense.  According- 
ly, these  witnesses,  dressed  in  their  best,  stood 
with  the  others  in  the  hall,  and  made  their  obei- 
sances, quaking  inwardly. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  entered  the  hall  leaning  on  Sir 
George's  arm.  She  scarcely  bestowed  a  look 
upon  the  late  witnesses  for  the  crown,  but  made 
them  one  sweeping  courtesy  in  return,  and  pass- 
ed on  ;  only  Sir  George  felt  her  taper  fingers  just 
nip  his  arm. 

She  made  him  partake  of  some  supper,  and 
then  this  chevalier  des  dames  rode  home,  snatch- 
ed a  few  hours'  sleep,  put  on  the  yeoman's  suit 
in  which  he  had  first  visited  the  "  Packhorse," 
and,  arriving  at  Carlisle,  engaged  the  whole  in- 
side of  the  coach  ;  for  his  orders  were  to  console, 
and  he  did  not  see  his  way  clear  to  do  that  with 
two  or  three  strangers  listening  to  every  word. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

A  great  change  was  observable  in  Mrs.  Gaunt 
after  this  fiery  and  chastening  ordeal.  In  a  short 
time  she  had  been  taught  many  lessons.  She  had 
learned  that  the  law  will  not  allow  even  a  woman 
to  say  any  thing  and  every  thing  with  impunity. 
She  had  been  in  a  court  of  justice,  and  seen  how 
gravely,  soberly,  and  fairly  an  accusation  is  sift- 
ed there,  and,  if  false,  annihilated,  which  else- 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


137 


where  it  never  is.  Member  of  a  sex  that  could 
never  have  invented  a  court  of  justice,  she  had 
found  something  to  revere  and  bless  in  that  oth- 
er sex  to  which  her  erring  husband  belonged. 
Finally,  she  had  encountered  in  Mercy  Vint  a 
woman  whom  she  recognized  at  once  as  her  mor- 
al superior.  The  contact  of  that  pure  and  well- 
governed  spirit  told  wonderfully  upon  her ;  she 
began  to  watch  her  tongue,  and  to  bridle  her  high 
spirit.  She  became  slower  to  give  offense,  and 
slower  to  take  it.  She  took  herself  to  task,  and 
made  some  little  excuses  even  for  Griffith.  She 
was  resolved  to  retire  from  the  world  altogether ; 
but,  meantime,  she  bowed  her  head  to  the  les 
sons  of  adversity.  Her  features,  always  lovely, 
but  somewhat  too  haughty,  were  now  softened 
and  embellished  beyond  description  by  a  mingled 
expression  of  grief,  humility,  and  resignation. 

She  never  mentioned  her  husband,  but  it  is  not 
to  be  supposed  she  never  thought  of  him.  She 
waited  the  course  of  events  in  dignified  and  pa- 
tient silence. 

As  for  Griffith  Gaunt,  he  was  in  the  hands  of 
two  lawyers,  Atkins  and  Houseman.  He  waited 
on  the  first,  and  made  a  friend  of  him.  "  I  am 
at  your  service,"  said  he,"  but  not  if  I  am  to  be 
indicted  for  bigamy  and  burned  in  the  hand." 

''These  fears  are  idle,"  said  Atkins.  "  Mercy 
Vint  declared  in  open  court  she  will  not  proceed 
against  you." 

"  Ay,  but  there's  my  wife." 

"She  will  keep  quiet;  I  have  Houseman's 
word  for  it." 

"Ay,  but  there's  the  attorney  general." 

"Oh,  he  will  not  move  unless  he  is  driven. 
We  must  use  a  little  influence.  Mr.  House- 
man is  of  my  mind,  and  he  has  the  ear  of  the 
county." 

To  be  brief,  it  was  represented  in  high  quar- 
ters that  to  indict  Mr.  Gaunt  would  only  open 
Mrs.  Gaunt's  wounds  afresh,  and  do  no  good ; 
and  so  Houseman  found  means  to  muzzle  the  at- 
torney general. 

Just  three  weeks  after  the  trial,  Griffith  Gaunt, 
Esq. ,  reappeared  publicly.  The  place  of  his  re- 
appearance was  Coggleswade.  He  came  and  set 
about  finishing  his  new  mansion  with  feverish  ra- 
pidity. He  engaged  an  army  of  carpenters  and 
painters,  and  spent  thousands  of  pounds  on  the 
decorating  and  furnishing  of  the  mansion,  and 
laying  out  the  grounds. 

This  was  duly  reported  to  Mrs.  Gaunt,  who 
said — not  a  word. 

But  at  last  one  day  came  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  in  Griffith's  well-known  hand-writing. 

With  all  her  acquired  self-possession,  her  hand 
trembled  as  she  broke  open  the  seal. 

It  contained  but  these  words  : 

"Madam, — I  do  not  ask  you  to  forgive  me, 
for,  if  you  had  done  what  I  have,  I  could  never 
forgive  you.  But,  for  the  sake  of  Rose,  and  to 
stop  their  tongues,  I  do  hope  you  will  do  me  the 
honor  to  live  under  this  my  roof.  I  dare  not 
face  Hernshaw  Castle.  Your  own  apartments 
here  are  now  ready  for  you.  The  place  is  large. 
Upon  my  honor  I  will  not  trouble  you,  but  show 
myself  always,  as  now,  your  penitent  and  very 
humble  servant,  Griffith  Gaunt." 

The  messenger  was  to  wait  for  her  reply. 
This  letter  disturbed  Mrs.  Gaunt's  sorrowful 
tranquillity  at  once.     She  was  much  agitated, 


and  so  undecided  that  she  sent  the  messengei 
away,  and  told  him  to  call  next  day. 

Then  she  sent  oft"  to  Father  Francis  to  beg  his 
advice. 

But  her  courier  returned  late  at  night  to  say 
Father  Francis  was  away  from  home. 

Then  she  took  Rose,  and  said  to  her,  "My 
darling,  papa  wants  us  to  go  to  his  new  house, 
and  leave  dear  old  Hernshaw  ;  I  know  not  what 
to  say  about  that.     What  do  you  say  ?"' 

"Tell  him  to  come  to  us,"  said  Rose,  dictato- 
rially.  "Only"  (lowering  her  little  voice  very 
suddenly),  "  if  he  is  naughty  and  won't,  why  then 
we  had  better  go  to  him  ;  tor  he  amuses  me." 

"As  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Gaunt;  and  sent 
her  husband  this  reply  : 

"  Sir, — Rose  and  I  are  agreed  to  defer  to  your 
judgment  and  obey  your  wishes.  Be  pleased  to 
let  me  know  what  day  you  will  require  us ;  and 
I  must  trouble  you  to  send  a  carriage.  I  am, 
sir,  your  faithful  wife  and  humble  servant, 

' '  Catharine  Gaunt.  " 

At  the  appointed  day,  a  carriage  and  four 
came  wheeling  up  to  the  door.  The  vehicle  was 
gorgeously  emblazoned,  and  the  servants  in  rich 
liveries ;  all  which  finery  glittering  in  the  sun, 
and  the  glossy  coats  of  the  horses,  did  mightily 
please  Mistress  Rose.  She  stood  on  the  stone 
steps,  and  clapped  her  hands  with  delight.  Her 
mother  just  sighed,  and  said,  "Ay,  'tis  in  pomp 
and  show  we  must  seek  our  happiness  now. " 

She  leaned  back  in  the  carriage  and  closed  her 
eyes,  yet  not  so  close  but  now  and  then  a  tear 
would  steal  out  as  she  thought  of  the  past. 

They  drove  up  under  an  avenue  to  a  noble 
mansion,  and  landed  at  the  foot  of  some  marble 
steps,  low  and  narrow,  but  of  vast  breadth. 

As  they  mounted  these,  a  hall  door,  through 
which  the  carriage  could  have  passed,  was  flung 
opon,  and  discovered  the  servants  all  drawn  up 
to  do  honor  to  their  mistress. 

She  entered  the  hall  leading  Rose  by  the  hand ; 
the  servants  bowed  and  courtesied  down  to  the 
ground. 

She  received  this  homage  with  dignified  cour- 
tesy, and  her  eye  stole  round  to  see  if  the  master 
of  the  house  was  coming  to  receive  her. 

The  library  door  was  opened  hastily,  and  out 
came  to  meet  her — Father  Francis. 

"Welcome,  madam,  a  thousand  times  wel- 
come to  your  new  home,"  said  he,  in  a  stentorian 
voice,  with  a  double  infusion  of  geniality.  "  I 
claim  the  honor  of  showing  you  your  part  of  the 
house,  though  'tis  all  yours  for  that  matter." 
And  he  led  the  way. 

Now  this  cheerful  stentorian  voice  was  just  a 
little  shaky  for  once,  and  his  eyes  were  moist. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  noticed,  but  said  nothing  before 
the  people.  She  smiled  graciously,  and  accom- 
panied him. 

He  took  her  to  her  apartments.  They  con- 
sisted of  a  salle-a-manger,  three  delightful  bed- 
rooms, a  boudoir,  and  a  magnificent  drawing- 
room,  fifty  feet  long,  with  two  fireplaces,  and  a 
bay-window  thirty  feet  wide,  filled  with  the 
choicest  flowers. 

An  exclamation  of  delight  escaped  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
Then  she  said,  "One  would  think  I  was  a  queen." 
Then  she  sighed,  "Ah!"  said  she,  "'tis  a  fine 
thing  to  be  rich."  Then,  despondently,  "Tell 
him  I  think  it  very  beautiful." 


138 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"Nay,  madam,  I  hope  you  will  tell  him  so 
yourself." 

Mrs.  Gaunt  made  no  reply  to  that ;  she  added, 
"And  it  was  kind  of  him  to  have  you  here  the 
first  day :  I  do  not  feel  so  lonely  as  I  should  with- 
out you." 

She  took  Griffith  at  his  word,  and  lived  with 
Rose  in  her  own  apartments. 

For  some  time  Griffith  used  to  slip  away  when- 
ever he  saw  her  coming. 

One  day  she  caught  him  at  it,  and  beckoned 
him. 

He  came  to  her. 

"You  need  not  run  away  from  me,"  said  she. 
"I  did  not  come  into  your  house  to  quarrel  with 
you.  Let  us  be  friends."  And  she  gave  him  her 
hand  sweetly  enough,  hut  oh !  so  coldly. 

' '  I  hope  for  nothing  more, "  said  Griffith.  "  If 
you  ever  have  a  wish,  give  me  the  pleasure  of 
gratifying  it — that  is  all." 

"I  wish  to  retire  to  a  convent,"  said  she, 
quietly. 

"And  desert  your  daughter?" 

"  I  would  leave  her  behind,  to  remind  you  of 
days  gone  by." 

By  degrees  they  saw  a  little  more  of  one  an- 
other ;  they  even  dined  together  now  and  then. 
But  it  brought  them  no  nearer.  There  was  no 
anger,  with  its  loving  reaction.  They  were 
friendly  enough,  but  an  icy  barrier  stood  between 
them. 

One  person  set  himself  quietly  to  sap  this  bar- 
rier. Father  Francis  was  often  at  the  castle, 
and  played  the  peace-maker  very  adroitly. 

The  line  he  took  might  be  called  the  innocent 
Jesuitical.  He  saAv  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
exhort  these  two  persons  to  ignore  the  terrible 
things  that  happened,  and  to  make  it  up  as  if  it 
was  only  a  squabble.  What  he  did  was  to  re- 
peat to  the  husband  every  gracious  word  the  wife 
let  fall,  and  vice  versa,  and  to  suppress  all  either 
said  that  might  tend  to  estrange  them. 

In  short,  he  acted  the  part  of  Mr.  Harmony  in 
the  play,  and  acted  it  to  perfection. 

Gutta  cavat  lapidem. 

Though  no  perceptible  effect  followed  his  ef- 
forts, yet  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  got  rid  of 
some  of  the  bitterness.  But  the  coldness  re- 
mained. 

One  day  he  was  sent  for  all  in  a  hurry  by  Grif- 
fith. 

He  found  him  looking  gloomy  and  agitated. 

The  cause  came  out  directly.  Griffith  had 
observed  at  last,  what  all  the  females  in  the  house 
had  seen  two  months  ago,  that  Mrs.  Gaunt  was 
in  the  family-way. 

He  now  communicated  this  to  Father  Francis 
with  a  voice  of  agony,  and  looks  to  match. 

"All  the  better/ my  son,"  said  the  genial 
priest ;  "  'twill  be  another  tie  between  you.  I 
hope  it  will  be  a  fine  boy  to  inherit  your  estates." 
Then,  observing  a  certain  hideous  expression 
distorting  Griffith's  face,  he  fixed  his  eyes  full  on 
him,  and  said,  sternly,  "Are  you  not  cured  yet 
of  that  madness  of  yours  ?" 

"No,  no,  no,"  said   Griffith,  deprecatingly ; 
"  but  why  did  she  not  tell  me?" 
"  You  had  better  ask  her." 
"  Not  I.     She  will  remind  me  I  am  nothing  to 
her  now.     And,  though  'tis  so,  yet  I  would  not 
hear  it  from  her  lips." 

In  spite  of  this  wise  resolution,  the  torture  he 


was  in  drove  him  to  remonstrate  with  her  on  tier 
silence. 

She  blushed  high,  and  excused  herself  as  fol- 
lows : 

"I  should  have  told  you  as  soon  as  I  knew  it 
myself,  but  you  were  not  with  me.  I  was  all  by 
myself — in  Carlisle  jail. " 

This  reply,  uttered  with  hypocritical  meekness, 
went  through  Griffith  like  a  knife.  He  turned 
white,  and  gasped  for  breath,  but  said  nothing. 
He  left  her  with  a  deep  groan,  and  never  ven- 
tured to  mention  the  matter  again. 

All  he  did  in  that  direction  was  to  redouble 
his  attentions  and  solicitude  for  her  health. 

The  relation  between  these  two  was  now  more 
anomalous  than  ever. 

Even  Father  Francis,  who  had  seen  strange 
things  in  families,  used  to  watch  Mrs.  Gaunt  rise 
from  table  and  walk  heavily  to  the  door,  and  her 
husband  dart  to  it  and  open  it  obsequiously,  and 
receive  only  a  very  formal  reverence  in  return, 
and  wonder  how  all  this  was  to  end. 

However,  under  this  icy  surface,  a  change  was 
gradually  going  on;  and  one  afternoon,  to  his 
great  surprise,  Mrs.  Gaunt's  maid  came  to  ask 
Griffith  if  he  would  come  to  Mrs.  Gaunt's  apart- 
ment. 

He  found  her  seated  in  her  bay  window,  among 
her  flowers.  She  seemed  another  woman  all  of 
a  sudden,  and  smiled  on  him  her  exquisite  smile 
of  days  gone  by. 

"Come,  sit  beside  me,"  said  she,  "in  this 
beautiful  window  that  you  have  given  me." 

"Sit  beside  you,  Kate,"  said  Griffith;  "nay, 
let  me  kneel  at  your  knees ;  that  is  my  place." 

"As  you  will,"  said  she,  softly;  and  contin- 
ued, in  the  same  tone,  "  Now  listen  to  me :  you 
and  I  are  two  fools ;  we  have  been  very  happy 
together  in  days  gone  by,  and  we  should  both  of 
us  like  to  try  again,  but  we  neither  of  us  know 
how  to  begin.  You  are  afraid  to  tell  me  you  love 
me,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  own  to  you  or  any 
body  else  that  I  love  you,  in  spite  of  it  all — I  do, 
though." 

' '  You  love  me !  a  wretch  like  me,  Kate  ?  'Tis 
impossible.     I  can  not  be  so  happy!" 

"Child," said  Mrs.  Gaunt, "love  is  not  reason ; 
love  is  not  common  sense.  'Tis  a  passion,  like 
your  jealousy,  poor  fool.  I  love  you,  as  a  mother 
loves  her  child,  all  the  more  for  all  you  have  made 
me  suffer.  I  might  not  say  as  much  if  I  thought 
Ave  should  be  long  together ;  but  something  tells 
me  I  shall  die  this  time :  I  never  felt  so  before. 
I  Avant  you  to  bury  me  at  HernshaAv.  After  all, 
I  spent  more  happy  years  there  than  most  Avives 
ever  know.  I  see  you  are  very  sorry  for  what 
you  have  done.  Hoav  could  I  die  and  leave  thee 
in  doubt  of  my  forgiveness  and  my  love  ?  Kiss 
me,  poor  jealous  fool,  for  I  do  forgive  thee,  and 
love  thee  Avith  all  my  sorroAvful  heart. "  And  even 
with  the  Avords  she  boA\red  herself  and  sank  quiet- 
ly into  his  arms,  and  he  kissed  her  and  cried  bit- 
terly over  her — bitterly.  But  she  Avas  compara- 
tively calm ;  for  she  said  to  herself,  "  The  end  is 
at  hand." 

Griffith,  instead  of  pooh-poohing  his  wife's  fore- 
bodings, set  himself  to  baffle  them. 

He  used  his  AArealth  freely ;  and,  besides  the 
country  doctor,  had  two  very  eminent  practition- 
ers from  London,  one  of  whom  Avas  a  gray-head- 
ed man,  the  other  singularly  young  for  the  fame 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


139 


he  had  obtained.     But  then  he  was  a  genuine 
enthusiast  in  his  art. 


CHAPTER  XL VI. 

Griffith,  white  as  a  ghost,  and  unable  to 
shake  off"  the  forebodings  Catharine  had  commu- 
nicated to  him,  walked  incessantly  up  and  down 
the  room  ;  and,  at  his  earnest  request,  one  or  oth- 
er of  the  four  doctors  in  attendance  was  constant- 
ly coming  to  him  with  information. 

The  case  proceeded  favorably,  and,  to  Griffith's 
surprise  and  joy,  a  healthy  boy  was  born  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The  mother  was 
reported  rather  feverish,  but  nothing  to  cause 
alarm. 

Griffith  threw  himself  on  two  chairs  and  fell 
fast  asleep. 

Toward  morning  he  found  himself  shaken,  and 
there  was  Ashley,  the  young  doctor,  standing  be- 
side him,  with  a  very  grave  face.  Griffith  start- 
ed up,  and  cried,  "What  is  wrong,  in  God's 
name  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  there  has  been  a  sudden 
hemorrhage,  and  the  patient  is  much  exhausted. " 

"She  is  dying!  she  is  dying  !"  cried  Griffith, 
in  anguish. 

"  Not  dying.  But  she  will  infallibly  sink  un- 
less some  unusual  circumstance  occur  to  sustain 
vitality. " 

Griffith  laid  hold  of  him.  "  Oh,  sir,  take  my 
whole  fortune,  but  save  her !  save  her !  save 
her !" 

"Mr.  Gaunt,"  said  the  young  doctor,  "be 
calm,  or  you  will  make  matters  worse.  There 
is  one  chance  to  save  her,  but  my  professional 
brethren  are  prejudiced  against  it.  However, 
they  have  consented,  at  my  earnest  request,  to 
refer  my  proposal  to  you.  She  is  sinking  for 
want  of  blood :  if  you  consent  to  my  opening  a 
vein  and  transfusing  healthy  blood  from  a  living 
subject  into  hers,  I  will  undertake  the  operation. 
You  had  better  come  and  see  her ;  you  will  be 
more  able  to  judge." 

"Let  me  lean  on  you,"  said  Griffith.  And 
the  strong  wrestler  went  tottering  up  the  stairs. 
There  they  showed  him  poor  Kate,  white  as  the 
bedclothes,  breathing  hard,  and  with  a  pulse  that 
hardly  moved. 

Griffith  looked  at  her,  horror-struck. 

"Death  has  got  hold  of  my  darling,"  he 
screamed.  "  Snatch  her  away!  for  God's  sake, 
snatch  her  from  him!" 

The  young  doctor  whipped  off  his  coat  and 
bared  his  arm. 

"There,"  he  cried,  "  Mr.  Gaunt  consents. 
Now,  Corrie,  be  quick  with  the  lancet,  and  hold 
this  tube  as  I  tell  you;  warm  it  first  in  that 
water." 

Here  came  an  interruption.  Griffith  Gaunt 
griped  the  young  doctor's  arm,  and  with  an  ago- 
nized and  ugly  expression  of  countenance  cried 
out,  "  What !  your  blood !  What  right  have  you 
to  lose  blood  for  her  ?" 

"The  right  of  a  man  who  loves  his  art  better 
than  his  blood,"  cried  Ashley,  with  enthusiasm. 

Griffith  tore  off  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and 
bared  his  arm  to  the  elbow.  "  Take  every  drop 
I  have.  No  man's  blood  shall  enter  her  veins 
but  mine."  And  the  creature  seemed  to  swell 
to  double  his  size,  as  with  flushed  cheek  and 


sparkling  eyes  he  held  out  a  bare  arm,  corded 
like  a  blacksmith's,  and  white  as  a  duchess's. 

The  young  doctor  eyed  the  magnificent  limb  a 
moment  with  rapture,  then  fixed  his  apparatus, 
and  performed  an  operation  which  then,  as  now, 
was  impossible  in  theoiy — only  he  did  it.  He 
sent  some  of  Griffith  Gaunt's  bright  red  blood 
smoking  hot  into  Kate  Gaunt's  veins. 

This  done,  he  watched  his  patient  closely,  and 
administered  stimulants  from  time  to  time. 

She  hung  between  life  and  death  for  hours. 
But  at  noon  next  day  she  spoke,  and,  seeing 
Griffith  sitting  beside  her,  pale  with  anxiety  and 
loss  of  blood,  she  said,  "My  dear,  do  not  thou 
fret.  I  died  last  night.  I  knew  I  should.  But 
they  gave  me  another  life,  and  now  I  shall  live  to 
a  hundred." 

They  showed  her  the  little  boy,  and  at  sight 
of  him  the  whole  woman  made  up  her  mind  to 
live. 

And  live  she  did ;  and,  what  is  very  remarka- 
ble, her  convalescence  was  more  rapid  than  on 
any  former  occasion. 

It  was  from  a  talkative  nurse  she  first  learned 
that  Griffith  had  given  his  blood  for  her.  She 
said  nothing  at  the  time,  but  lay  with  an  angelic, 
happy  smile,  thinking  of  it. 

The  first  time  she  saw  him  after  that,  she  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm,  and,  looking  Heaven  itself 
into  his  eyes,  she  said,  "  My  life  is  very  dear  to 
me  now  ;  'tis  a  present  from  thee. " 

She  wanted  a  good  excuse  for  loving  him  as 
frankly  as  before,  and  now  he  had  given  her  one. 
She  used  to  throw  it  in  his  teeth  in  the  prettiest 
way.  Whenever  she  confessed  a  fault,  she  was 
sure  to  turn  slyly  round  and  say,  ' '  But  what 
could  one  expect  of  me  ?  I  have  his  blood  in 
my  veins." 

But  once  she  told  Father  Francis,  quite  seri- 
ously, that  she  had  never  been  quite  the  same 
woman  since  she  lived  by  Griffith's  blood ;  she 
was  turned  jealous ;  and,  moreover,  it  had  given 
him  a  fascinating  power  over  her,  and  she  could 
tell  blindfold  when  he  was  in  the  room,  which 
last  fact,  indeed,  she  once  proved  by  actual  ex- 
periment. But  all  this  I  leave  to  such  as  study 
the  occult  sciences  in  this  profound  age  of  our  •. 

Starting  with  this  advantage,  Time,  the  great 
curer,  gradually  healed  a  wound  that  looked  in- 
curable. 

Mrs.  Gaunt  became  a  better  wife  than  she  had 
ever  been  before.  She  studied  her  husband,  and 
found  he  was  not  hard  to  please.  She  made  his 
home  bright  and  genial,  and  so  he  never  went 
abroad  for  the  sunshine  he  could  have  at  home. 

And  he  studied  her ;  he  added  a  chapel  to  the 
house,  and  easily  persuaded  Francis  to  become 
the  chaplain.  Thus  they  had  a  peacemaker  and 
a  friend  in  the  house,  and  a  man  severe  in  mor- 
als, but  candid  in  religion,  and  an  inexhaustible 
companion  to  them  and  their  children. 

And  so,  after  that  terrible  storm,  this  pair  pur- 
sued the  even  tenor  of  a  peaceful  united  life,  till 
the  olive  branches  rising  around  them,  and  the 
happy  years  gliding  on,  almost  obliterated  that 
one  dark  passage,  and  made  it  seem  a  mere  fan- 
tastical, incredible  dream.  • 

Mercy  Vint  and  her  child  went  home  in  the 
coach.  It  was  empty  at  starting,  and,  as  Mrs. 
Gaunt  had  foretold,  a  great  sense  of  desolation 
fell  upon  her. 


140 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  Oil,  JEALOUSY. 


She  leaned  back,  and  the  patient  tears  coursed 
steadily  down  her  comely  cheeks. 

At  the  first  stage  a  passenger  got  down  from 
the  outside  and  entered  the  coach. 

"What!  George  Neville!"  said  Mercy. 

"The  same,"  said  he. 

She  expressed  her  surprise  that  he  should  be 
going  her  way. 

"Tis  strange,"  said  he,  "but  to  me  most 
agreeable." 

"And  to  me  too,  for  that  matter,"  said  she. 

Sir  George  observed  her  eyes  were  red,  and,  to 
divert  her  mind  and  keep  up  her  spirits,  launch- 
ed into  a  flow  of  small  talk. 

In  the  midst  of  it,  Mercy  leaned  back  in  the 
coach  and  began  to  cry  bitterly.  So  much  for 
that  mode  of  consolation. 

Upon  this  he  faced  the  situation,  and  begged 
her  not  to  grieve.  He  praised  the  good  action 
she  had  done,  and  told  her  how  every  body  ad- 
mired her  for  it,  especially  himself. 

At  that  she  gave  him  her  hand  in  silence,  and 
turned  away  her  pretty  head.  He  carried  her 
hand  respectfully  to  his  lips,  and  his  manly  heart 
began  to  yearn  over  this  suffering  virtue,  so 
grave,  so  dignified,  so  meek.  He  was  no  longer 
a  young  man ;  he  began  to  talk  to  her  like  a 
friend.  This  tone,  and  the  soft,  sympathetic 
voice  in  which  a  gentleman  speaks  to  a  woman 
in  trouble,  unlocked  her  heart,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  lite  she  was  led  to  talk  about  herself. 

She  opened  her  heart  to  him.  She  told  him 
she  was  not  the  woman  to  pine  for  any  man. 
Her  youth,  her  health,  and  love  of  occupation 
would  carry  her  through.  What  she  mourned 
was  the  loss  of  esteem,  and  the  blot  upon  her 
child.  At  that  she  drew  the  baby  with  inex- 
pressible tenderness,  and  yet  with  a  half  defiant 
air,  closer  to  her  bosom. 

Sir  George  assured  her  she  would  lose  the  es- 
teem of  none  but  fools.  "As  for  me, "said  he, 
"I  always  respected  you,  but  now  I  revere  you. 
You  are  a  martyr  and  an  angel." 

"George,"  said  Mercy,  gravely,  "be  you  my 
friend,  not  my  enemy." 

"Why,  madam, "  said  he, "  sure  you  can't  think 
me  such  a  wretch. " 

"  I  mean,  our  flatterers  are  our  enemies." 

Sir  George  took  the  hint,  given,  as  it  was,  very 
gravely  and  decidedly,  and  henceforth  showed 
her  his  respect  by  his  acts  :  he  paid  her  as  much 
attention  as  if  she  had  been  a  princess.  He 
handed  her  out  and  handed  her  in,  and  coaxed 
her  to  eat  here  and  to  drink  there ;  and  at  the 
inn  where  the  passengers  slept  for  the  night,  he 
showed  his  long  purse,  and  secured  her  superior 
comforts.  Console  her  he  could  not,  but  he 
broke  the  sense  of  utter  desolation  and  loneli- 
ness with  which  she  started  from  Carlisle.  She 
told  him  so  in  the  inn,  and  descanted  on  the 
goodness  of  God,  who  had  sent  her  a  friend  in 
that  bitter  hour. 

"You  have  been  very  kind  to  me,  George," 
said  she.  "Now  Heaven  bless  you  for  it,  and 
give  you  many  happy  days,  and  well  spent." 

This,  from  one  who  never  said  a  word  she  did 
not  mean,  sank  deep- into  Sir  George's  heart,  and 
he  went  to  sleep  thinking  of  her,  and  asking  him- 
self was  there  nothing  he  could  do  for  her. 

Next  morning  Sir  George  handed  Mercy  and 
her  babe  into  the  coach,  and  the  villain  tried  an 
experiment  to  see  what  value  she  set  en  him. 


He  did  not  get  in,  so  Mercy  thought  she  had 
seen  the  last  of  him. 

"Farewell  good, kind  George,  "said  she;  "alas! 
there's  naught  but  meeting  and  parting  in  this 
weary  world." 

The  tears  stood  in  her  sweet  eyes,  and  she 
thanked  him,  not  with  words  only,  but  with  the 
soft  pressure  of  her  womanly  hand. 

He  slipped  up  behind  the  coach,  and  was 
ashamed  of  himself,  and  his  heart  Avarmed  to 
her  more  and  more. 

As  soon  as  the  coach  stopped,  my  lord  opened 
the  door  for  Mercy  to  alight.  Her  eyes  were 
very  red,  he  saw  that.  She  started,  and  beamed 
with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

"Why,  I  thought  I  had  lost  you  for  good," 
said  she.  "Whither  are  you  going — to  Lancas- 
ter ?" 

"Not  quite  so  far.  I  am  going  to  the  'Pack- 
horse.'" 

Mercy  opened  her  eyes  and  blushed  high.  Sir 
George  saw,  and,  to  divert  her  suspicions,  told 
her  merrily  to  beware  of  making  objections.  "I 
am  only  a  sort  of  servant  in  the  matter.  'Twas 
Mrs.  Gaunt  ordered  me." 

"I  might  have  guessed  it,"  said  Mercy.  "Bless 
her.  she  knew  I  should  be  lonely." 

"She  was  not  easy  till  she  had  got  rid  cf  me, 
I  assure  you,"  said  Sir  George ;  "so  let  us  make 
the  best  on't,  for  she  is  a  lady  that  likes  to  have 
her  own  way. " 

"She  is  a  noble  creature.  George,  I  shall 
never  regret  any  thing  I  have  done  for  her.  And 
she  will  not  be  ungrateful.  Oh,  the  sting  of 
ingratitude !     I  have  felt  that.     Have  you  ?" 

"No,"  said  Sir  George,  "I  have  escaped  that 
by  never  doing  any  good  actions." 

"I  doubt  you  aie  telling  me  a  lie,"  said  Mercy 
Vint. 

She  now  looked  upon  Sir  George  as  Mrs. 
Gaunt's  representative,  and  prattled  freely  to  him. 
Only  now  and  then  her  trouble  came  over  her, 
and  then  she  took  a  quiet  cry  without  ceremony. 

As  for  Sir  George,  he  sat  and  studied,  and 
wondered  at  her. 

Never  in  his  life  had  he  met  such  a  woman  as 
this,  who  was  as  candid  with  him  as  if  he  had 
been  a  woman.  She  seemed  to  have  a  window 
in  her  bosom,  through  which  he  looked,  and  saw 
the  pure  and  lovely  soul  within. 

In  the  afternoon  they  reached  a  little  town 
whence  a  cart  conveyed  them  to  the  "Pack- 
horse." 

Here  Mercy  Vint  disappeared,  and  busied  her- 
self with  Sir  George's  comforts. 

He  sat  by  himself  in  the  parlor,  and  misled 
his  gentle  companion. 

In  the  morning  Mercy  thought  of  course  he 
would  go.  But  instead  of  that,  he  staid,  and 
followed  her  about,  and  began  to  court  her  down- 
right. But  the  warmer  he  got,  the  cooler  she. 
And  at  last  she  said,  mighty  dryly,  "This  is  a 
very  dull  place  for  the  likes  of  you." 

'"Tis  the  sweetest  place  in  England,"  said 
he,  "at  least  to  me,  for  it  contains — the  woman 
Hove." 

Mercy  drew  back,  and  colored  rosy  red.  ' '  I 
hope  not, "  said  she. 

"I  loved  you  the  first  day  I  saw  you  and  heard 
your  voice ;  and  now  I  love  you  ten  times  more. 
Let  me  dry  thy  tears  forever,  sweet  Mercy.  Be 
mv  wife." 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT:  OR  JEALOUSY. 


"  You  are  mad,"  said  Mercy.  "What !  would 
you  wed  a  woman  in  my  condition  ?  I  am  more 
your  friend  than  to  take  you  at  your  word.  And 
what  do  you  think  I  am  made  of,  to  go  from  one 
man  to  another,  like  that  ?" 

"Take  your  time,  sweetheart,  only  give  me 
your  hand." 


141 

do  you 


Sir  George  turned  pale.     "One  word 
love  him  ?" 

"  I  have  a  regard  for  him." 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?" 

"  Hardly;  but  I  wronged  him,  and  I  owe  him 
amends.     I  shall  pay  my  debt." 

Sir  George  bowed,  and  retired  stick  at  heart 


"George,"  said  Mercy,  very  gravely,  "I  am 
beholden  to  you,  but  my  duty  it  lies  another 
way.  There  is  a  young  man  in  these  parts  (Sir 
George  groaned)  that  was  my  follower  for  two 
years  and  better.  I  wronged  him  for  one  I  nev- 
er name  now.  I  must  marry  that  poor  lad  and 
make  him  happy,  or  else  live  and  die  as  I  am." 


and  deeply  mortified.     Mercy  looked  after  him 
and  sighed. 

Next  day,  as  he  walked  disconsolate  up  and 
down,  she  came  to  him  and  gave  him  her  hand. 
"  You  were  a  good  friend  to  me  that  bitter  day." 
said  she,  "now  let  me  be  yours.  Do  not  bide 
here ;  'twill  but  vex  vou." 


142 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;   OR,  JEALOUSY. 


"lam  going, madam,"  said  Sir  George,  stiffly. 
"I  but  wait  to  see  the  man  you  prefer  to  me. 
If  he  is  not  too  unworthy  of  you,  I'll  go,  and 
trouble  you  no  more.     I  have  learned  his  name. " 

Mercy  blushed,  for  she  knew  Paul  Carrick 
would  bear  no  comparison  with  George  Neville. 

The  next  day  Sir  George  took  leave  to  observe 
that  this  Paul  Carrick  did  not  seem  to  appre- 
ciate her  preference  so  highly  as  he  ought.  "I 
understand  he  has  never  been  here." 

Mercy  colored,  but  made  no  reply,  and  Sir 
George  was  sorry  he  had  taunted  her.  He  fol- 
lowed her  about,  and  showed  her  great  attention, 
but  not  a  word  of  love. 

There  were  fine  trout  streams  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  he  busied  himself  fishing,  and  in 
the  evening  read  aloud  to  Mercy,  and  waited  to 
see  Paul  Carrick. 

Paul  never  came ;  and,  from  a  word  Mercy  let 
drop,  he  saw  that  she  was  mortified.  Then,  being 
no  tyro  in  love,  he  told  her  he  had  business  in 
Lancaster,  and  must  leave  her  for  a  few  days, 
but  he  would  return,  and  by  that  time,  perhaps, 
Paul  Carrick  would  be  visible. 

Now  his  main  object  was  to  try  the  effect  of 
correspondence. 

Every  day  he  sent  her  a  long  love-letter  from 
Lancaster. 

Paul  Carrick,  who,  in  absenting  himself  for  a 
time,  had  acted  upon  his  sister's  advice  rather 
than  his  own  natural  impulse,  learned  that  Mercy 
received  a  letter  every  day.  This  was  a  thing 
unheard  of  in  that  parish. 

So  then  Paul  defied  his  sister's  advice,  and 
presented  himself  to  Mercy,  when  the  following 
dialogue  took  place : 

"  Welcome  home,  Mercy." 

"  Thank  you,  Paul." 

"  Well,  I'm  single  still,  lass." 

"So  I  hear." 

"I'm  come  to  say,  let  by-gones  be  by- 
gones. " 

"  So  be  it,"  said  Mercy,  dryly. 

"  You  have  tried  a  gentleman,  now  try  a 
farrier. " 

"  I  have  ;  and  he  did  not  stand  the  test." 

"  Anan." 

"  Why  did  vou  not  come  near  me  for  ten 
days  ?" 

Paul  blushed  up  to  the  eyes.  "Well,"  said 
he,  "I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  Twas  our  Jess  ad- 
vised me  to  leave  you  quiet  just  at  first." 

"  Ay,  ay.  I  was  to  be  humbled,  and  made  to 
smart  for  my  fault,  and  then  I  should  be  thank- 
ful to  take  you.  My  lad,  if  ever  you  should  be 
really  in  love,  take  a  friend's  advice :  listen  to 
your  own  heart,  and  not  to  shallow  advisers. 
You  have  mortified  a  poor  sorrowful  creature 
who  was  going  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  you,  and 
you  have  lost  her  forever." 

"  What  d'ye  mean  ?" 

"I  mean  that  ye  are  to  think  no  more  of 
Mercy  Vint. " 

"Then  it  is  true,  ye  jade — ye've  gotten  a  fresh 
lover  already. " 

"  Say  no  more  than  you  know.  If  you  were 
the  only  man  on  earth,  I  would  not  wed  you, 
Paul  Carrick." 

Paul  Carrick  retired  home  and  blew  up  his 
sister,  and  told  her  that  she  had  "gotten  him 
the  sack  again." 

The  next  day  Sir  George  came  back  from  Lan- 


caster, and  Mercy  lowered  her  lashes  for  once  at 
sight  of  him. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "has  this  Carrick  shown  a 
sense  of  your  goodness  ?" 

"  He  has  come — and  gone." 

She  then,  with  her  usual  frankness,  told  him 
what  had  passed.  "And,"  said  she,  with  a 
smile,  "you  are  partly  to  blame,  for  how  could 
I  help  comparing  your  behavior  to  me  with  his  ? 
You  came  to  my  side  when  I  was  in  trouble,  and 
showed  me  respect  when  I  expected  scorn  from  all 
the  world.     A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed." 

"  Reward  me !  reward  me !"  said  Sir  George, 
gayly ;  "  you  know  the  way." 

"Nay,  but  I  am  too  much  your  friend,"  said 
Mercy. 

"  Be  less  my  friend,  then,  and  more  my  dar- 
ling." 

He  pressed  her,  he  urged  her,  he  stuck  to  her, 
he  pestered  her. 

She  snubbed,  and  evaded,  and  parried,  and 
liked  him  all  the  better  for  his  pestering  her. 

At  last,  one  day,  she  said,  "If  Mrs.  Gaunt 
thinks  it  will  be  for  your  happiness,  I  will — in 
six  months'  time ;  but  you  shall  not  marry  in 
haste  to  repent  at  leisure.  And  I  must  have 
time  to  learn  two  things — whether  you  can  be 
constant  to  a  simple  woman  like  me,  and  whether 
I  can  love  again  as  tenderly  as  you  deserve  to  be 
loved." 

All  his  endeavors  to  shake  this  determination 
were  vain.  Mercy  Vint  had  a  terrible  deal  of 
quiet  resolution. 

He  retired  to  Cumberland,  and  in  a  long  letter 
asked  Mrs.  Gaunt's  advice.  She  replied  charac- 
teristically. She  began  very  soberly  to  say  that 
she  should  be  the  last  to  advise  a  marriage  be- 
tween persons  of  different  conditions  in  life. 
"But  then,"  said  she,"this  Mercy  is  altogether 
an  exception.  If  a  flower  grows  on  a  dunghill, 
'tis  still  a  flower,  and  not  a  part  of  the  dunghill. 
She  has  the  essence  of  gentility,  and,  indeed,  her 
manners  are  better  bred  than  most  of  our  ladies. 
There  is  too  much  affectation  abroad,  and  that 
is  your  true  vulgarity.  Tack  '  my  lady'  on  to 
'Mercy  Vint,'  and  that  dignified  and  quiet  sim- 
plicity of  hers  will  carry  her  with  credit  through 
every  court  in  Europe.  Then  think  of  her  vir- 
tues— (here  the  writer  began  to  lose  her  temper) 
— where  can  you  hope  to  find  such  another? 
She  is  a  moral  genius,  and  acts  well,  no  matter 
under  what  temptation,  as  surely  as  Claude  and 
Raphael  paint  well.  Why,  sir,  Avhat  do  you  seek 
in  a  wife?  Wealth?  title?  family?  But  you 
possess  them  already;  you  want  something  in 
addition  that  will  make  you  happy.  Well,  take 
that  angelic  goodness  into  your  house,  and  you 
will  find,  by  your  own  absolute  happiness,  how 
ill  your  neighbors  have  wived.  For  my  part,  I 
see  but  one  objection — the  child.  Well,  if  you 
are  man  enough  to  take  the  mother,  I  am  woman 
enough  to  take  the  babe.  In  one  word,  he  who 
has  the  sense  to  fall  in  love  with  such  an  angel, 
and  has  not  the  sense  to  marry  it,  if  he  can,  is  a 
fool." 

"Postscript, — My  poor  friend,  to  what  end 
think  you  I  sent  you  down  in  the  coach  with 
her  ?" 

Sir  George,  thus  advised,  acted  as  he  would 

have  done  had  the  advice  been  just  the  opposite. 

He  sent  Mercy  a  love-letter  by  every  post,  and 


GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  OR,  JEALOUSY. 


143 


he  often  received  one  in  return ;  only  his  were 
passionate,  and  hers  gentle  and  affectionate. 

But  one  day  came  a  letter  that  was  a  mere  cry 
of  distress, 

"  George,  my  child  is  dying.  What  shall  I 
do?" 

He  mounted  his  horse  and  rode  to  her. 

He  came  too  late.  The  little  hoy  had  died 
suddenly  of  croup,  and  was  to  he  buried  next 
morning. 

The  poor  mother  received  him  up  stairs,  and 
her  grief  was  terrible.  She  clung  sobbing  to 
him,  and  could  not  be  comforted.  Yet  she  felt 
his  coming.  But  a  mother's  anguish  overpow- 
ered all. 

Crushed  by  this  fearful  blow,  her  strength  gave 
way  for  a  time,  and  she  clung  to  George  Ne- 
ville, and  told  him  she  had  nothing  left  but  him, 
and  one  day  implored  him  not  to  die  and  leave 
her. 

Sir  George  said  all  he  could  think  of  to  com- 
fort her,  and  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight  persuaded 
her  to  leave  the  "Packhorse"  and  England  as 
his  wife. 

She  had  little  power  to  resist  now,  and,  indeed, 
little  inclination. 

They  were  married  by  special  license,  and 
spent  a  twelvemonth  abroad. 

At  the  end  of  that  time  they  returned  to  Ne- 
ville's Court,  and  Mercy  took  her  place  there  with 
the  same  dignified  simplicity  that  had  adorned 
her  in  a  humbler  station. 

Sir  George  had  given  her  no  lessons,  hut  she 
had  observed  closely  for  his  sake  ;  and,  being 
already  well  educated,  and  very  quick  and  do- 
cile, she  seldom  made  «him  blush  except  with 
pride. 

They  were  the  happiest  pair  in  Cumberland. 
Her  merciful  nature  now  found  a  larger  field  for 
its  exercise,  and,  backed  by  her  husband's  purse, 
she  became  the  Lady  Bountiful  of  the  parish  and 
the  county. 

The  day  after  she  reached  Neville's  Court 


came  an  exquisite  letter  to  her  from  Mrs.  Gaunt. 
She  sent  an  affectionate  reply. 

But  the  Gaunts  and  the  Nevilles  did  not  meet 
in  society. 

Sir  George  Neville  and  Mrs.  Gaunt,  being  both 
singularly  brave  and  haughty  people,  rather  de- 
spised this  arrangement.  But  it  seems  that,  one 
day,  when  they  were  all  four  in  the  Town  Hall, 
folk  whispered  and  looked  ;  and  both  Griffith 
Gaunt  and  Lady  Neville  surprised  these  glances, 
and  determined,  by  one  impulse,  it  should  never 
happen  again.  Hence  it  was  quite  -understood 
that  the  Nevilles  and  the  Gaunts  were  not  to  1x3 
asked  to  the  same  party  or  ball. 

The  wives,  however,  corresponded,  and  Lady 
Neville  easily  induced  Mrs.  Gaunt  to  co-operate 
with  her  in  her  benevolent  acts,  especially  in 
saving  young  women  who  had  been  betrayed 
from  sinking  deeper. 

Living  a  good  many  miles  apart,  Lady  Neville 
could  send  her  stray  sheep  to  service  near  Mrs. 
Gaunt,  and  vice  versa ;  and  so,  merciful,  but  dis- 
criminating, they  saved  many  a  poor  girl  who 
had  been  weak,  not  wicked. 

So  then,  though  they  could  not  eat  nor  dance 
together  in  earthly  mansions,  they  could  do  good 
together;  and,  methinks,  in  the  eternal  world, 
where  years  of  social  intercourse  will  prove  less 
than  cobwebs,  these  their  joint  acts  of  mercy  will 
be  links  of  a  bright,  strong  chain,  to  bind  their 
souls  in  everlasting  amity. 

It  was  a  remarkable  circumstance  that  the  one 
child  of  Lady  Neville's  unhappy  marriage  died, 
but  her  nine  children  by  Sir  George  all  grew  to 
goodly  men  and  women.  That  branch  of  the 
Nevilles  became  remarkable  for  high  principle 
and  good  sense,  and  this  they  owe  to  Mercy 
Vint,  and  to  Sir  George's  courage  in  marrying 
her.  This  Mercy  was  granddaughter  to  one  of 
Cromwell's  Ironsides,  and  brought  her  rare  per- 
sonal merit  into  their  house,  and  also  the  best 
blood  of  the  old  Puritans,  than  which  there  is  no 
blood  in  Europe  more  rich  in  male  courage,  fe- 
male chastitv,  and  all  the  virtues. 


THE   END. 


FOUL    PLAY. 


&  Nowl. 


BY 

CHARLES   READE, 

AUTHOR  OF   "WHITE  LIES,"   "LOVE  ME  LITTLE,  LOVE  ME  LONG,"   "IT  IS   NEVER  TOO  LATE 

TO  MEND,"   "  HARD  CASH,"    "  GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;    OR,  JEALOUSY,"   "  PEG 

WOFFINGTON,"   "CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE,"   ETC., 

AND 

DION    BOUCICAULT. 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &     BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN    SQUARE. 
187O. 


CHARLES   READE'S   NOVELS. 

POPULAR    EDITION. 


PUT  YOURSELF  IN  HIS  PLACE.     Illustrated.     8vo,  Paper,  75  cents. 

HARD  CASH.     A  Matter-of-Fact  Romance.     Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

GRIFFITH  GAUNT ;  or,  Jealousy.    Illustrated.    8vo,  Paper,  25  cents. 

NEVER  TOO  LATE  TO  MEND.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

LOVE  ME  LITTLE,  LOVE  ME  LONG.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

FOUL  PLAY.     8vo,  Paper,  25  cents. 

WHITE  LIES.    8vo,  Paper,  35  cents. 

CLOISTER  AND  THE  HEARTH ;  or,  Maid,  Wife,  and  Widow.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 

PEG  WOFFINGTON,  CHRISTIE  JOHNSTONE,  and  Other  Stories.    8vo,  Paper,  50  cents. 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York. 

Sent  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  any  part  of  the  United  States,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


Foul  Play. 


CHAPTER  I. 

There  are  places  which  appear  at  first  sight 
inaccessible  to  romance;  and  such  a  place  was 
Mr.  Wardlaw's  dining-room  in  Russell  Square. 
It  was  very  large,  had  sickly  green  walls,  picked 
out  with  aldermen,  full  length;  heavy  maroon 
curtains ;  mahogany  chairs ;  a  turkey  carpet  an 
inch  thick;  and  was  lighted  with  wax  candles 
only. 

In  the  centre,  bristling  and  gleaming  with  silver 
and  glass,  was  a  round  table,  at  which  fourteen 
could  have  dined  comfortably;  and  at  opposite 
sides  of  this  table  sat  two  gentlemen,  who  looked 
as  neat,  grave,  precise,  and  unromantic,  as  the 
place  ;  Merchant  Wardlaw  and  his  son. 

Wardlaw  senior  was  an  elderly  man,  tall,  thin, 
iron-gray,  with  a  round  head,  a  short,  thick  neck, 
a  good,  brown  eye,  a  square  jowl  that  betokened 
resolution,  and  a  complexion  so  sallow  as  to  be 
almost  cadaverous.  Hard  as  iron  :  but  a  certain 
stiff  dignity  and  respectability  sat  upon  him,  and 
became  him. 

Arthur  Wardlaw  resembled  his  father  in  figure, 
but  his  mother  in  face.  He  had,  and  has,  hay- 
colored  hair,  a  forehead  singularly  white  and  del- 
icate, pale  blue  eyes,  largish  ears,  finely  chiselled 
features,  the  under  lip  much  shorter  than  the  up- 
per ;  his  chin  oval  and  pretty,  but  somewhat  re- 
ceding ;  his  complexion  beailtiful.  In  short, 
what  nineteen  people  out  of  twenty  would  call  a 
handsome  young  man,  and  think  they  had  de- 
scribed him. 

Both  the  Wardlaws  were  in  full  dress,  accord- 
ing to  the  invariable  custom  of  the  house ;  and 
sat  in  a  dead  silence,  that  seemed  natural  to  the 
great,  sober  room. 

This,  however,  was  not  for  want  of  a  topic ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  had  a  matter  of  great  im- 
portance to  discuss,  and  in  fact  this  was  why  they 
dined  tete-a-tete ;  but  their  tongues  were  tied  for 
the  present ;  in  the  first  place,  there  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  table  an  epergne,  the  size  of  a  Put- 
ney laurel-tree  ;  neither  Wardlaw  could  well  see 
the  other  without  craning  out  his  neck  like  a 
rifleman  from  behind  his  tree;  and  then  there 
were  three  live  suppressors  of  confidential  inter- 
course— two  gorgeous  footmen,  and  a  sombre,  sub- 
lime, and,  in  one  word,  episcopal,  butler ;  all  three 
went  about  as  softly  as  cats  after  a  robin,  and 
conjured  one  plate  away,  and  smoothly  insinuated 
another,  and  seemed  models  of  grave  discretion :  ' 
but  were  known  to  be  all  ears,  and  bound  by  a 
secret  oath  to  cany  down  each  crumb  of  dialogue 
to  the  sen-ants'  hall,  for  curious  dissection  and 
boisterous  ridicule. 


At  last,  however,  those  three  smug  hypocrites 
retired,  and,  by  good  luck,  transferred  their  suf- 
focating epergne  to  the  sideboard ;  so  then  father 
and  son  looked  at  one  another  with  that  conscious 
air  which  naturally  precedes  a  topic  of  interest  ; 
and  Wardlaw  senior  invited  his  son  to  try  a  cer- 
tain decanter  of  rare  old  port,  by  way  of  prelimi- 
nary. 

While  the  young  man  fills  his  glass,  hurl  we  in 
his  antecedents. 

At  school  till  fifteen,  and  then  clerk  in  his  fa- 
ther's office  till  twenty-two,  and  showed  an  apti- 
tude so  remarkable,  that  John  Wardlaw,  who 
was  getting  tired,  determined,  sooner  or  later,  to 
put  the  reins  of  government  into  his  hands.  But 
he  conceived  a  desire  that  the  future  head  of  his 
office  should  be  a  University  man.  So  he  an- 
nounced his  resolution,  and  to  Oxford  went  young 
Wardlaw,  though  he  had  not  looked  at  Greek  or 
Latin  for  seven  years.  He  was,  however,  fur- 
nished with  a  private  tutor,  under  whom  he  re- 
covered lost  ground  rapidly.  The  Reverend 
Robert  Penfold  was  a  first-class  man,  and  had 
the  gift  of  teaching.  The  house  of  Wardlaw  had 
peculiar  claims  on  him,  for  he  was  the  son  of  old 
Michael  Penfold,  Wardlaw's  cashier ;  he  learned 
from  young  Wardlaw  the  stake  he  was  playing 
for,  and,  instead  of  merely  giving  him  one  hour's 
lecture  per  day,  as  he  did  to  his  other  pupils,  he 
used  to  come  to  his  rooms  at  all  hours,  and  force 
him  to  read,  by  reading  with  him.  He  also  stood 
his  friend  in  a  serious  emergency.  Young  Ward- 
law,  you  must  know,  was  blessed  or  cursed  with 
Mimicry ;  his  powers  in  that  way  really  seemed 
to  have  no  limit,  for  he  could  imitate  any  sound 
you  liked  with  his  voice,  and  any  form  with  his 
pen  or  pencil.  Now,  we  promise  you,  he  was 
one  man  under  his  father's  eye,  and  another 
down  at  Oxford ;  so,  one  night,  this  gentleman, 
being  warm  with  wine,  opens  his  window,  and, 
seeing  a  group  of  undergraduates  chattering  and 
smoking  in  the  quadrangle,  imitates  the  peculiar 
grating  tones  of  Mr.  Champion,  vice-president 
of  the  college,  and  gives  them  various  reasons 
why  they  ought  to  disperse  to  their  rooms  and 
study.  "  But,  perhaps,"  says  he,  in  conclusion, 
"you  are  too  blind  drunk  to  read  Bosh  in  crook- 
ed letters  by  candle-light  ?  In  that  case — "  And 
he  then  gave  them  some  very  naughty  advice  how 
to  pass  the  evening;  still  in  the  exact  tones  of 
Mr.  Champion,  who  was  a  very,  very  strict  mor- 
alist ;  and  this  unexpected  sally  of  wit  caused 
shrieks  of  laughter,  and  mightily  tickled  all  the 
hearers,  except  Champion  ipse,  who  was  listening 
and  disapproving  at  another  window.  He  com- 
plained to  the  president.     Then  the  ingenious 


FOUL  PLAY. 


Wardlaw,  not  having  come  down  to  us  in  a  di- 
rect line  from  Bayard,  committed  a  great  mis- 
take,— he  denied  it. 

It  was  brought  home  to  him,  and  the  president, 
who  had  laughed  in  his  sleeve  at  the  practical 
joke,  looked  very  grave  at  the  falsehood ;  Rusti- 
cation was  talked  of,  and  even  Expulsion.  Then 
Wardlaw  came  sorrowfully  to  Penfold,  and  said 
to  him,  "I  must  have  been  awfully  cut,  for  I 
don't  remember  all  that ;  I  had  been  wining  at 
Christchurch.  I  do  remember  slanging  the  fel- 
lows, but  how  can  I  tell  what  I  said  ?  I  say,  old 
follow,  it  will  be  a  bad  job  for  me  if  they  expel 
me,  or  even  rusticate  me ;  my  father  will  never 
forgive  me ;  I  shall  be  his  clerk,  but  never  his 
partner ;  and  then  he  will  find  out  what  a  lot  I 
owe  down  here.     I'm  done  for!     I'm  done  for!" 

Penfold  uttered  not  a  word,  but  grasped  his 
hand,  and  went  off  to  the  president,  and  said  his 
pupil  had  wined  at  Christchurch,  and  could  not 
be  expected  to  remember  minutely.  Mimicry 
was,  unfortunately,  a  habit  with  him.  He  then 
pleaded  for  the  milder  construction,  with  such 
zeal  and  eloquence  that  the  high-minded  scholar 
he  was  addressing  admitted  that  construction  was 
possible,  and  therefore  must  be  received.  So  the 
affair  ended  in  a  written  apology  to  Mr.  Cham- 
pion, which  had  all  the  smoothness  and  neatness 
of  a  merchant's  letter.  Arthur  Wardlaw  was  al- 
ready a  master  in  that  style. 

Six  months  after  this,  and  one  fortnight  before 
the  actual  commencement  of  our  tale,  Arthur 
Wardlaw,  well  crammed  by  Penfold,  went  up  for 
his  final  examination,  throbbing  with  anxiety. 
He  passed;  and  was  so  grateful  to  his  tutor  that, 
when  the  advowson  of  a  small  living  near  Oxford 
came  into  the  market,  he  asked  Wardlaw  senior 
to  lend  Robert  Penfold  a  sum  of  money,  much 
more  than  was  needed  :  and  Wardlaw  senior  de- 
clined without  a  moment's  hesitation. 

This  slight  sketch  will  serve  as  a  key  to  the 
dialogue  it  has  postponed,  and  to  subsequent  in- 
cidents. 

"Well,  Arthur,  and  so  you  have  really  taken 
your  degree  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  have  passed  my  examination : 
the  degree  follows  as  a  matter  of  course, — that  is 
a  mere  question  of  fees." 

"  Oh !  Then  now  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you.  Try  one  more  glass  of  the '47  port.  Stop, 
you'll  excuse  me ;  I  am  a  man  of  business ;  I 
don't  doubt  your  word ;  Heaven  forbid  !  but,  do 
you  happen  to  have  any  document  you  -can  pro- 
duce in  further  confirmation  of  what  you  state  ; 
namely,  that  you  have  passed  your  final  exami- 
nation at  the  University  ?" 

"Certainly,  sir;"  replied  young  Wardlaw. 
"My  Testamur." 

"What  is  that?" 

The  young  gentleman  put  his  hand  in  his  pock- 
et, and  produced  his  Testamur,  or  "We  bear 
witness;"  a  short  printed  document  in  Latin, 
which  may  be  thus  translated: — 

"  We  bear  witness  that  Arthur  Wardlaw,  of  St. 
Luke's  College,  has  answered  our  questions  in  hu- 
mane letters. 

1 '  George  Richardson, 
"Arthur  Smythe, 
' '  Edward  Merivale, 

"  Examiners." 


Wardlaw  senior  took  it,  laid  it  beside  him  on 
the  table,  inspected  it  with  his  double  eye-glass, 
and,  not  knowing  a  word  of  Latin,  was  mightily 
impressed,  and  his  respect  for  his  son  rose  40  or 
45  per  cent. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  he.  "Now  listen  to 
me.  Perhaps  it  was  an  old  man's  fancy  ;  but  I 
have  often  seen  in  the  world  what  a  stamp  these 
Universities  put  upon  a  man.  To  send  you  back 
|  from  commerce  to  Latin  and  Greek,  at  two-and- 
]  twenty,  was  trying  you  rather  hard  ;  it  was  try- 
|  ing  you  doubly ;  your  obedience,  and  your  abili- 
ty into  the  bargain.  Well,  sir,  you  have  stood 
the  trial,  and  I  am  proud  of  you.  And  so  now 
it  is  my  turn :  from  this  day  and  from  this  hour, 
look  on  yourself  as  my  partner  in  the  old-estab- 
lished house  of  Wardlaw.  My  balance-sheet 
shall  be  prepared  immediately,  and  the  partner- 
ship deed  drawn.  You  will  enter  on  a  flourish- 
ing concern,  sir ;  and  you  will  virtually  conduct 
it,  in  written  communication  with  me ;  for  I  have 
had  five-and-forty  years  of  it :  and  then  my  liver, 
you  know !  Watson  advises  me  strongly  to  leave 
my  desk,  and  try  country  air,  and  rest  from  busi- 
ness and  its  cares." 

He  paused  a  moment;  and  the  young  man 
drew  a  long  breath,  like  one  who  was  in  the  act 
of  being  relieved  of  some  terrible  weight. 

As  for  the  old  gentleman,  he  was  not  observing 
his  son  just  then,  but  thinking  of  his  own  career ; 
a  certain  expression  of  pain  and  regret  came  over 
his  features  :  but  he  shook  it  off  with  manly  dig- 
nity. "  Come,  come,"  said  he,  "  this  is  the  law 
of  Nature,  and  must  be  submitted  to  with  a  good 
grace.  Wardlaw  junior,  fill  your  glass."  At  the 
same  time  he  stood  up  and  said,  stoutly,  ' '  The 
setting  sun  drinks  to  the  rising  sun  ;"  but  could 
not  maintain  that  artificial  style,  and  ended  with, 
"God  bless  you,  my  boy,  and  may  you  stick  to 
business ;  avoid  speculation,  as  I  have  done ; 
and  so  hand  the  concern  down  healthy  to  your 
son,  as  my  father  there  (pointing  to  a  picture) 
handed  it  down  to  me,  and  I  to  you." 

His  voice  wavered  slightly  in  uttering  this  ben- 
ediction ;  but  only  for  a  moment :  he  then  sat 
quietly  down,  and  sipped  his  wine  composedly. 

Not  so  the  other:  his  color  came  and  went 
violently  all  the  time  his  father  was  speaking, 
and,  when  he  ceased,  he  sank  into  his  chair  with 
another  sigh  deeper  than  the  last,  and  two  half- 
hysterical  tears  came  to  his  pale  eyes. 

But  presently,  feeling  he  was  expected  to  say 
something,  he  struggled  against  all  this  mysteri- 
ous emotion,  and  faltered  out  that  he  should  not 
fear  the  responsibility,  if  he  might  have  constant 
recourse  to  his  father  for  advice. 

' '  Why,  of  course, ' '  was  the  reply.  ' '  My  coun- 
try house  is  but  a  mile  from  the  station :  you  can 
telegraph  for  me  in  any  case  of  importance." 

"When  would  you  wish  me  to  commence  my 
new  duties  ?" 

"  Let  me  see,  it  will  take  six  weeks  to  prepare 
a  balance-sheet,  such  as  I  could  be  content  to 
submit  to  an  incoming  partner.    Say  two  months. " 

Young  Wardlaw's  countenance  fell. 

"  Meantime  you  shall  travel  on  the  Continent 
and  enjoy  yourself." 

"Thank  you," said  young  Wardlaw,  mechani- 
cally, and  fell  into  a  brown  study. 

The  room  now  returned  to  what  seemed  its 
natural  state.  And  its  silence  continued  until  it 
i  was  broken  from  without. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


1  A  sharp  knocking  was  heard  at  the  street  door, 
and  resoimded  across  the  marble  hall. 

The  Wardlaws  looked  at  one  another  in  some 
little  surprise. 

"  I  have  invited  nobody,"  said  the  elder. 

Some  time  elapsed,  and  then  a  footman  made 
his  appearance,  and  brought  in  a  card. 

"Mr.  Christopher  Adams." 

Now  that  Mr.  Christopher  Adams  should  call 
on  John  Wardlaw,  in  his  private  room,  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  seemed  to  that  merchant 
irregular,  presumptuous,  and  monstrous.  "Tell 
him  he  will  find  me  at  my  place  of  business  to- 
morrow, as  usual,"  said  he,  knitting  his  brows. 

The  footman  went  off  with  this  message ;  and, 
soon  after,  raised  voices  were  heard  in  the  hall, 
and  the  episcopal  butler  entered  the  room  with  an 
injured  countenance. 

"  He  says  he  must  see  you ;  he  is  in  great  anx- 
iety." 

"Yes,  I  am  in  great  anxiety,"  said  a  quaver- 
ing voice  at  his  elbow ;  and  Mr.  Adams  actually 
pushed  by  the  butler,  and  stood,  hat  in  hand,  in 
those  sacred  precincts.  "  Pray  excuse  me,  sir," 
said  he,  ' '  but  it  is  very  serious  ;  I  can't  be  easy 
in  my  mind  till  I  have  put  you  a  question." 

"  This  is  very  extraordinary  conduct,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Wardlaw.  "Do  you  think  I  do  business 
here,  and  at  all  hours  ?" 

"Oh  no,  sir:  it  is  my  own  business.  I  am 
come  to  ask  you  a  very  serious  question.  I 
couldn't  wait  till  morning  with  such  a  doubt  on 
my  mind. " 

"  Well,  sir,  I  repeat  this  is  irregular  and  ex- 
traordinary ;  but  as  you  are  here,  pray  what  is 
the  matter?"  He  then  dismissed  the  lingering 
butler  with  a  look.  Mr.  Adams  cast  uneasy 
glances  oh  young  Wardlaw. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  elder,  "you  can  speak  before 
him.  This  is  my  partner;  that  is  to  say,  he 
will  be  as  soon  as  the  balance-sheet  can  be  pre- 
pared, and  the  deed  drawn.  Wardlaw  junior, 
this  is  Mr.  Adams,  a  very  respectable  bill  dis- 
counter." 

The  two  men  bowed  to  each  other,  and  Arthur 
Wardlaw  sat  down  motionless. 

"Sir,  did  you  draw  a  note  of  hand  to-day?" 
inquired  Adams  of  the  elder  merchant. 

"I  dare  say  I  did.  Did  you  discount  one 
signed  by  me  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  we  did." 

"Well,  sir,  you  have  only  to  present  it  at  ma- 
turity. Wardlaw  and  Son  will  provide  for  it,  I 
dare  say."  This  with  the  lofty  nonchalance  of  a 
rich  man,  who  had  never  broken  an  engagement 
in  his  life. 

"  Ah !  that  I  know  they  will  if  it  is  all  Tight ; 
but  suppose  it  is  not  ?" 

"What  d'ye  mean?"  asked  Wardlaw,  with 
some  astonishment. 

"Oh,  nothing,  sir!  It  bears  your  signature, 
that  is  good  for  twenty  times  the  amount ;  and  it 
is  indorsed  by  your  cashier.  Only  what  makes 
me  a  little  uneasy,  your  bills  used  to  be  always 
on  your  own  forms,  and  so  I  told  my  partner ;  he 
discounted  it.  Gentlemen,  I  wish  you  would 
just  look  at  it." 

"  Of  course  we  will  look  at  it.  Show  it  Ar- 
thur first ;  his  eyes  are  younger  than  mine. " 

Mr.  Adams  took  out  a  large  bill-book,  extract- 
ed the  note  of  hand,  and  passed  it  across  the  table 
to  Wardlaw  junior.     He  took  it  up  with  a  sort 


of  shiver,  and  bent  his  head  very  low  over  it ; 
then  handed  it  back  in  silence. 

Adams  took  it  to  Wardlaw  senior,  and  laid  it 
before  him,  by  the  side  of  Arthur's  Testamur. 

The  merchant  inspected  it  with  his  glasses. 

"  The  writing  is  mine,  apparently." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  it,"  said  the  bill-broker, 
eagerly. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Wardlaw.  "Why, 
what  is  this  ?  For  two  thousand  pounds  !  and, 
as  you  say,  not  my  form.  I  have  signed  no  note 
for  two  thousand  pounds  this  week.  Dated 
yesterday.     You  have  not  cashed  it,  I  hope  ?" 

' '  I  am  sorry  to  say  my  partner  has. " 

"Well,  sir,  not  to  keep  you  in  suspense,  the 
thing  is  not  worth  the  stamp  it  is  written  on." 

' '  Mr.  Wardlaw ! — sir ! — good  heavens !  Then 
it  is  as  I  feared.     It  is  a  forgery." 

"  I  should  be  puzzled  to  find  any  other  name 
for  it.  You  need  not  look  so  pale,  Arthur.  We 
can't  help  some  clever  scoundrel  imitating  our 
hands;  and  as  for  you,  Adams,  you  ought  to 
have  been  more  cautious." 

"But,  sir,  your  cashier's  name  is  Penfold," 
faltered  the  holder,  clinging  to  a  straw.  "  May 
he  not  have  drawn — is  the  indorsement  forged  as 
well?" 

Mr.  Wardlaw  examined  the  back  of  the  bill, 
and  looked  puzzled.  "No,"  said  he.  "My 
cashier's  name  is  Michael  Penfold,  but  this  is  in- 
dorsed '  Robert  Penfold. '  Do  you  hear,  Arthur  ? 
Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  You  look 
like  a  ghost.  I  say  there  is  your  tutor's  name 
at  the  back  of  this  forged  note.  This  is  very 
strange.  Just  look,  and  tell  me  who  wrote  these 
two  words  '  Robert  Penfold  ?'  " 

Young  Wardlaw  took  the  document,  and  tried 
to  examine  it  calmly,  but  it  shook  visibly  in  his 
hand,  and  a  cold  moisture  gathered  on  his  brow. 
His  pale  eyes  roved  to  and  fro  in  a  very  remarka- 
ble way  ;  and  he  was  so  long  before  he  said  any 
thing,  that  both  the  other  persons  present  began 
to  eye  him  with  wonder. 

At  last  he  faltered  out,  "  This  '  Robert  Pen- 
fold  '  seems  to  me  very  like  his  own  handwriting. 
But  then  the  rest  of  the  writing  is  equally  like 
yours,  sir.  I  am  sure  Robert  Penfold  never  did 
any  thing  wrong.  Mr.  Adams,  please  oblige  vie. 
Let  this  go  no  further  till  I  have  seen  him,  and 
asked  him  whether  he  indorsed  it." 

"  Now  don't  you  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  the  elder 
Wardlaw.  "  The  first  question  is,  who  received 
the  money?" 

Mr.  Adams  replied  that  it  was  a  respectable- 
looking  man,  a  young  clergyman. 

"Ah  !"  said  Wardlaw,  with  a  world  of  mean- 
ing. 

"Father!"  said  young  Wardlaw,  imploringly, 
"for  my  sake,  say  no  more  to-night.  Robert 
Penfold  is  incapable  of  a  dishonest  act." 

"It  becomes  your  years  to  think  so,  young 
man.  But  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  see  what 
crimes  respectable  men  are  betrayed  into  in  the 
hour  of  temptation.  And,  now  I  think  of  it,  this 
Robert  Penfold  is  in  want  of  money.  Did  he  not 
ask  me  for  a  loan  of  two  thousand  pounds  ?  Was 
not  that  the  very  sum  ?  Can't  you  answer  me  ? 
Why,  the  application  came  through  you." 

Receiving  no  reply  from  his  son,  but  a  sort  of 
agonized  stare,  he  took  out  his  pencil  and  wrote 
down  Robert  Penfold's  address.  This  he  handed 
the  bill-broker,  and  gave  him  some  advice  in  a 


8 


FOUL  PLAY. 


whisper,  which  Mr.  Christopher  Adams  received 
with  a  profusion  of  thanks,  and  bustled  away, 
leaving  Wardlaw  senior  excited  and  indignant, 
Wardlaw  junior  ghastly  pale  and  almost  stupe- 
fied. 

Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  for  some  minutes, 
and  then  the  younger  man  broke  out  suddenly : 
"Robert  Penfold  is  the  best  friend  I  ever  had; 
I  should  have  been  expelled  but  for  him,  and  I 
should  never  have  earned  that  Testamur  but  for 
him.': 

The  old  merchant  interrupted  him.  "You 
exaggerate :  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  sorry  now 
I  did  not  lend  him  the  money  you  asked  for. 
For,  mark  my  words,  in  a  moment  of  temptation, 
that  miserable  young  man  has  forged  my  name, 
and  will  be  convicted  of  the  felony,  and  punished 
accordingly." 

"No,  no;  Oh,  God  forbid!"  shrieked  young 
Wardlaw.  "  I  couldn't  bear  it.  If  he  did, 
he  must  have  intended  to  replace  it.  I  must  see 
him;  I  will  see  him  directly. "  He  got  up  all  in 
a  hurry,  and  was  going  to  Penfold  to  warn  him, 
and  get  him  out  of  the  way  till  the  money  should 
be  replaced.  But  his  father  started  up  at  the 
same  moment  and  forbade  him,  in  accents  that 
he  had  never  yet  been  able  to  resist. 

"  Sit  down,  sir,  this  instant,"  said  the  old  man, 
with  terrible  sternness.  "Sit  down,  I  say,  or  you 
will  never  be  a  partner  of  mine.  Justice  must 
take  its  course.  What  business  and  what  right 
have  we  to  protect  a  felon  ?  I  would  not  take  your 
part  if  you  were  one.  Indeed  it  is  too  late  now, 
for  the  detectives  will  be  with  him  before  you 
could  reach  him.     I  gave  Adams  his  address." 

At  this  last  piece  of  information  Wardlaw 
junior  leaned  his  head  on  the  table,  and  groaned 
aloud,  and  a  cold  perspiration  gathered  in  beads 
upon  his  white  forehead. 


CHAPTER  II. 


That  same  evening  sat  over  their  tea,  in  Nor- 
folk Street,  Strand,  another  couple,  who  were  also 
father  and  son ;  but,  in  this  pair,  the  Wardlaws 
Avere  reversed.  Michael  Penfold  was  a  reverend, 
gentle  creature,  with  white  hair,  blue  eyes,  and 
great  timidity ;  why,  if  a  stranger  put  to  him  a 
question,  he  used  to  look  all  round  the  room  be- 
fore he  ventured  to  answer. 

Robert,  his  son,  was  a  young  man,  with  a  large 
brown  eye,  a  mellow  voice,  square  shoulders,  and 
a  prompt  and  vigorous  manner.  Cricketer.  Schol- 
ar.   Parson. 

They  were  talking  hopefully  together  over  a 
living  Robert  was  going  to  buy :  it  was  near  Ox- 
ford, he  said,  and  would  not  prevent  his  continu- 
ing to  take  pupils.  "  But,  father,"  said  he,  "it 
will  be  a  place  to  take  my  wife  to  if  I  ever  have 
one ;  and,  meantime,  I  hope  you  will  run  down 
now  and  then,  Saturday  to  Monday." 

' '  That  I  will,  Robert.  Ah  !  how  proud  she 
would  have  been  to  hear  you  preach ;  it  was  al- 
ways her  dream,  poor  thing." 

"  Let  us  think  she  can  hear  me,"  said  Robert. 
"And  I  have  got  you  still;  the  proceeds  of  this 
living  will  help  me  to  lodge  you  more  comforta- 
bly." 

"You  are  very  good,  Robert :  I  would  rather 
see  you  spend  it  upon  yourself;  but,  dear  me, 


what  a  manager  you  must  be  to  dress  so  beauti- 
fully as  you  do,  and  send  your  old  father  presents 
as  you  do,  and  yet  put  by  fourteen  hundred  pounds 
to  buy  this  living." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,  I  have  only  saved  four 
hundred  ;  the  odd  thousand  —  But  that  is  a  se- 
cret for  the  present." 

"  Oh,  I  am  not  inquisitive :  I  never  was." 
They  then  chatted  about  things  of  no  impor* 
tance  whatever,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  just 
lighting  his  candle  to  go  to  bed,  when  a  visitoi 
was  ushered  into  the  room. 

The  Penfolds  looked  a  little  surprised,  but  not 
much.  They  had  no  street-door  all  to  them- 
selves  ;  no  liveried  dragons  to  interpose  between 
them  and  unseasonable  or  unwelcome  visitors. 

The  man  was  well-dressed,  with  one  excep- 
tion ;  he  wore  a  gold  chain.  He  had  a  hooked 
nose,  and  a  black,  piercing  eye.  He  stood  at  the 
door  and  observed  every  person  and  thing  in  the 
room  minutely  before  he  spoke  a  word. 

Then  he  said,  quietly,  "  Mr.  Michael  Penfold, 
I  believe." 

"  At  your  service,  sir." 

"And  Mr.  Robert  Penfold." 

"lam  Robert  Penfold.  What  is  your  busi- 
ness ?" 

"  Pray  is  the  '  Robert  Penfold  '  at  the  back  of 
this  note  your  writing  ?" 

"  Certainly  it  is ;  they  would  not  cash  it  with- 
out that." 

"  Oh,  you  got  the  money,  then?" 

"  Of  course  I  did." 

' '  You  have  not  parted  with  it,  have  you  ?" 

"No."       • 

"  All  the  betted  "  He  then  turned  to  Michael, 
and  looked  at  him  earnestly  a  moment.  "  The 
fact  is,  sir,"  said  he,  "there  is  a  little  irregularity 
about  this  bill,  which  must  be  explained,  or  your 
son  might  be  called  on  to  refund  the  cash." 

"Irregularity  about — a  bill?"  cried  Michael 
Penfold,  in  dismay.  "Who  is  the  drawer? 
Let  me  see  it.  Oh  dear  me,  something  wrong 
about  a  bill  indorsed  by  you,  Robert?"  and  the 
old  man  began  to  shake  piteously. 

"Why,  father,"  said  Robert,  "what  are  you 
afraid  of?  If  the  bill  is  irregular,  I  can  but  re- 
turn the  money.     It  is  in  the  house." 

"The  best  way  will  be  for  Mr.  Robert  Pen 
fold  to  go  at  once  with  me  to  the  bill-broker  > 
he  lives   but  a  few  doors  off.      And  you,  ekt 
must  stay  here,  and  be  responsible  for  the  fund^ 
till  we  return." 

Robert  Penfold  took  his  hat  directly,  and  weal 
off  with  this  mysterious  visitor. 

They  had  not  gone  many  steps,  when  Robert's 
companion  stopped,  and,  getting  in  front  of  him, 
said,  "We  can  settle  this  matter  here."  At  the 
same  time  a  policeman  crossed  the  way,  and 
joined  them  ;  and  another  man,  who  was  in  fact 
|  a  policeman  in  plain  clothes,  emerged  from  a  door- 
way, and  stood  at  Robert  Penfold's  back. 

The  Detective,  having  thus  surrrounded  him, 
threw  off  disguise.  "My  man,  "said  he,  "I 
I  ought  to  have  done  this  job  in  your  house.  But 
I  looked  at  the  worthy  old  gentleman,  and  his 
gray  hairs.  I  thought  I'd  spare  him  all  I  could. 
I  have  a  warrant  to  arrest  you  for  forgery  !" 

"  Forgery  !  arrest  me  for  forgery !"  said  Rob- 
ert Penfold,  with  some  amazement,  but  little  emo- 
tion ;  for  he  hardly  seemed  to  take  it  in,  in  all  its 
horrible  significance. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


9 


The  next  moment,  however,  he  turned  pale, 
and  almost  staggered  under  the  blow. 

"  We  had  better  go  to  Mr.  Wardlaw,"  said  he, 
*'  I  entreat  you  to  go  to  him  with  me." 

' '  Can't  be  done, "  said  the  detective.  ' '  Ward- 
law  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The  bill  is  stop- 
ped. You  are  arrested  by  the  gent  that  cashed 
it.  Here  is  the  warrant ;  will  you  go  quietly 
with  us,  or  must  I  put  the  darbies  on  ?" 

Robert  was  violently  agitated.  "  There  is  no 
need  to  arrest  me,"  he  cried  ;  "I  shall  not  run 
from  my  accuser.  Hands  off,  I  say.  I'm  a  cler- 
gyman of  the  Church  of  England,  and  you  shall 
not  lay  hands  on  me." 

But  one  of  the  policemen  did  lay  hands  on  him. 
Then  the  Reverend  Robert  Penfold  shook  him  fu- 
riously off,  and,  with  one  active  bound,  sprang  into 
the  middle  of  the  road. 

The  officers  went  at  him  incautiously,  and  the 
head-detective,  as  he  rushed  forward,  received  a 
heavy  blow  on  the  neck  and  jaw,  that  sounded 
along  the  street,  and  sent  him  rolling  in  the  mud ; 
this  was  followed  by  a  quick  succession  of  stag- 
gering facers,  administered  right  and  left,  on  the 
eyes  and  noses  of  the  subordinates.  These,  how- 
ever, though  bruised  and  bleeding,  succeeded  at 
last  in  grappling  their  man,  and  all  came  to  the 
ground  together,  and  there  struggled  furiously ; 
every  window  in  the  street  was  open  by  this  time 
and  at  one  the  white  hair  and  reverend  face  of 
Michael  Penfold  looked  out  on  this  desperate  and 
unseemly  struggle,  with  hands  that  beat  the  air 
in  helpless  agony,  and  inarticulate  cries  of  terror. 

The  detective  got  up  and  sat  upon  Robert  Pen- 
fold's  chest ;  and  at  last  the  three  forced  the 
handcuffs  upon  him,  and  took  him  in  a  cab  to  the 
station-house. 

Next  day,  before  the  magistrate,  Wardlaw  sen- 
ior proved  the  note  was  a  forgery,  and  Mr.  Ad- 
ams's partner  swore  to  the  prisoner  as  the  per- 
son who  had  presented  and  indorsed  the  note. 
The  officers  attended,  two  with  black  eyes  apiece, 
and  one  with  his  jaw  bound  up,  and  two  sound 
teeth  in  his  pocket,  which  had  been  driven  from 
their  sockets  by  the  prisoner  in  his  desperate  at- 
tempt to  escape.  Their  evidence  hurt  the  pris- 
oner, and  the  magistrate  refused  bail. 

The  Reverend  Robert  Penfold  was  committed 
to  prison,  to  be  tried  at  the  Central  Criminal 
Court  on  a  charge  of  felony. 

Wardlaw  senior  returned  home  and  told  Ward- 
law  junior,  who  said  not  a  word.  He  soon  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Robert  Penfold,  which  agi- 
tated him  greatly,  and  he  promised  to  go  to  the 
prison  and  see  him. 

But  he  never  went. 

He  was  very  miserable,  a  prey  to  an  inward 
struggle.  He  dared  not  offend  his  father  on  the 
eve  of  being  made  partner.  Yet  his  heart  bled 
for  Robert  Penfold. 

He  did  what  might  perhaps  have  been  expect- 
ed from  that  pale  eye  and  receding  chin — he  tem- 
porized. He  said  to  himself,  "  Before  that  hor- 
rible trial  comes  on,  I  shall  be  the  house  of  Ward- 
law,  and  able  to  draw  a  check  for  thousands. 
I'll  buy  off  Adams  at  any  price,  and  hush  up  the 
whole  matter." 

So  he  hoped,  and  hoped.  But  the  accountant 
was  slow,  the  public  prosecutor  unusually  quick, 
and,  to  young  Wardlaw's  agony,  the  partnership 
deed  was  not  ready  when  an  imploring  letter  was 
put  into  his  hands,  urging  him,  by  all  that  men 


hold  sacred,  to  attend  at  the  court  as  the  prison- 
er's witness. 

This  letter  almost  drove  young  Wardlaw  mad. 
He  went  to  Adams,  and  entreated  him  not  to  car- 
ry the  matter  into  court.  But  Adams  was  inex- 
orable. He  had  got  his  money,  but  would  be  re- 
venged for  the  fright. 

Baffled  here,  young  Wardlaw  went  down  to 
Oxford  and  shut  himself  up  in  his  own  room,  a 
prey  to  fear  and  remorse.  He  sported  his  oak, 
and  never  went  out.  All  his  exercise  was  that  of 
a  wild  beast  in  its  den,  walking  restlessly  up  and 
down. 

But  all  his  caution  did  not  prevent  the  prison- 
er's solicitor  from  getting  to  him.  One  morning, 
at  seven  o'clock,  a  clerk  slipped  in  at  the  heels  of 
his  scout,  and,  coming  to  young  Wardlaw's  bed- 
side, awoke  him  out  of  an  uneasy  slumber  by 
serving  him  with  a  subpoena  to  appear  as  Robert 
Penfold's  witness. 

This  last  stroke  finished  him.  His  bodily 
health  gave  way  under  his  mental  distress.  Gas- 
tric fever  set  in,  and  he  was  lying  tossing  and 
raving  in  delirium,  while  Robert  Penfold  was  be- 
ing tried  at  the  Central  Criminal  Court. 

The  trial  occupied  six  hours,  and  could  easily 
be  made  rather  interesting.  But,  for  various 
reasons,  with  which  it  would  not  be  good  taste  to 
trouble  the  reader,  we  decide  to  skim  it. 

The  indictment  contained  two  counts  ;  one  for 
forging  the  note  of  hand,  the  other  for  uttering 
it,  knowing  it  to  be  forged. 

On  the  first  count,  the  Crown  was  weak,  and 
had  to  encounter  the  evidence  of  Undercliff,  the 
distinguished  expert,  who  swore  that  the  hand 
which  wrote  "  Robert  Penfold  "  was  not,  in  his 
opinion,  the  hand  that  had  written  the  body  of 
the  instrument.  He  gave  many  minute  reasons 
in  support  of  this :  and  nothing  of  any  weight 
was  advanced  contra.  The  judge  directed  the 
jury  to  acquit  the  prisoner  on  that  count. 

But,  on  the  charge  of  uttering,  the  evidence 
was  clear,  and  on  the  question  of  knowledge,  it 
was,  perhaps,  a  disadvantage  to  the  prisoner  that 
he  was  tried  in  England,  and  could  not  be  heard 
in  person,  as  he  could  have  been  in  a  foreign 
court ;  above  all,  his  resistance  to  the  officers 
eked  out  the  presumption  that  he  knew  the  note 
had  been  forged  by  some  person  or  other,  who 
was  probably  his  accomplice. 

The  absence  of  his  witness,  Wardlaw  junior, 
was  severely  commented  on  by  his  counsel ;  in- 
deed, he  appealed  to  the  judge  to  commit  the 
said  Wardlaw  for  contempt  of  court.  But  Ward- 
law  senior  was  recalled,  and  swore  that  he  had 
left  his  son  in  a  burning  fever,  not  expected  to 
live  :  and  declared,  with  genuine  emotion,  that 
nothing  but  a  high  sense  of  public  duty  had 
brought  him  hither  from  his  dying  son's  bedside. 
He  also  told  the  court  that  Arthur's  inability  to 
clear  his  friend  had  really  been  the  first  cause  of 
his  illness,  from  which  he  was  not  expected  to 
recover. 

The  jury  consulted  together  a  long  time ;  and, 
at  last,  brought  in  a  verdict  of  "  Guilty  ;"  but 
recommended  him  to  mercy,  on  grounds  which 
might  fairly  have  been  alleged  in  favor  of  his  inno- 
cence ;  but,  if  guilty,  rather  aggravated  his  crime. 

Then  an  officer  of  the  court  inquired,  in  a  sort 
of  chant  or  recitativo,  whether  the  prisoner  had 
any  thing  to  say  why  judgment  should  not  be  giv- 
en in  accordance  with  the  verdict. 


10 


FOUL  PLAY. 


It  is  easy  to  divest  words  of  their  meaning  by 
false  intonation ;  and  prisoners  in  general  receive 
this  bit  of  sing-song  in  dead  silence.  For  why  ? 
the  chant  conveys  no  idea  to  their  ears,  and  they 
would  as  soon  think  of  replying  to  the  notes  of 
a  cuckoo. 

But  the  Reverend  Robert  Penfold  was  in  a  keen 
agony  that  sharpened  all  his  senses ;  he  caught 
the  sense  of  the  words  in  spite  of  the  speaker, 
and  clung  wildly  to  the  straw  that  monotonous 
machine  held  out.  "My  lord!  my  lord!"  he 
cried,  '  •  I'll  tell  you  the  real  reason  why  young 
Wardlaw  is  not  here." 

The  judge  put  up  his  hand  with  a  gesture  that 
enforced  silence:  "Prisoner,"  said  he,  "  I  can 
not  go  back  to  facts;  the  jury  have  dealt  with 
them.  Judgment  can  be  arrested  only  on 
grounds  of  law.  On  these  you  can  be  heard. 
But,  if  you  have  none  to  offer,  you  must  be  si- 
lent, and  submit  to  your  sentence."  He  then, 
without  a  pause,  proceeded  to  point  out  the  hei- 
nous character  of  the  offense,  but  admitted  there 
Mas  one  mitigating  circumstance ;  and,  in  con- 
clusion, he  condemned  the  culprit  to  five  years 
penal  servitude. 

At  this  the  poor  wretch  uttered  a  cry  of  an- 
guish that  was  fearful,  and  clutched  the  dock  con- 
vulsively. 

Now  a  prisoner  rarely  speaks  to  a  judge  with- 
out revolting  him  by  bad  law,  or  bad  logic,  or  hot 
words.  But  this  wild  cry  was  innocent  of  all 
these,  and  went  straight  from  the  heart  in  the 
dock  to  the  heart  in  the  judgment-seat.  And  so 
his  lordship's  voice  trembltd  for  a  moment,  and 
then  became  firm  again,  but  solemn  and  humane. 
"  But,"  said  he,  "my  experience  tells  me  this  is 
your  first  crime,  and  may  possibly  be  your  last. 
I  shall  therefore  use  my  influence  that  you  may 
not  be  associated  with  more  hardened  criminals, 
but  may  be  sent  out  of  this  country  to  another, 
where  you  may  begin  life  afresh,  and,  in  the 
course  of  years,  efface  this  dreadful  stain.  Give 
me  hopes  "of  you ;  begin  your  repentance  where 
now  you  stand,  by  blaming  yourself,  and  no  oth- 
er man.  No  man  constrained  you  to  utter  a 
forged  note,  and  to  receive  the  money;  it  was 
found  in  your  possession.  For  such  an  act  there 
can  be  no  defense  in  law,  morality,  or  religion." 

These  words  overpowered  the  culprit.  He  burst 
out  crying  with  great  violence. 

But  it  did  not  last  long.  He  became  strange- 
ly composed  all  of  a  sudden;  and  said,  "God 
forgive  all  concerned  in  this— but  one — but  one." 

He  then  bowed  respectfully,  and  like  a  gentle- 
man, to  the  judge  and  the  jury,  and  walked  out 
of  the  dock  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  part- 
ed with  emotion,  and  would  march  to  the  gal- 
lows now  without  flinching. 

The  counsel  for  the  Crown  required  that  the 
forged  document  should  be  impounded. 

"  I  was  about  to  make  the  same  demand," 
said  the  prisoner's  counsel. 

The  judge  snubbed  them  both,  and  said  it  was 
a  matter  of  course. 

Robert  Penfold  spent  a  year  in  separate  con- 
finement, and  then,  to  cure  him  of  its  salutary  ef- 
fect (if  any),  was  sent  on  board  the  hulk  "Ven- 
geance," and  was  herded  with  the  greatest  mis- 
creants in  creation.  They  did  not  reduce  him  to 
their  level,  but  they  injured  his  mind:  and,  be- 
fore half  his  sentence  had  expired,  he  sailed  for 
a  penal  colony,  a  man  with  a  hot  coal  in  his  bo- 


som, a  creature  imbittered,  poisoned;  hoping  lit- 
tle, believing  little,  fearing  little,  and  hating 
much. 

He  took  with  him  the  prayer-book  his  mother 
had  given  him  when  he  was  ordained  deacon. 
But  he  seldom  read  beyond  the  fly-leaf;  there 
the  poor  lady  had  written  at  large  her  mother's 
heart,  and  her  pious  soul  aspiring  heavenward 
for  her  darling  son.  This,  when  all  seemed  dark- 
est, he  would  sometimes  run  to  with  moist  eyes  : 
for  he  was  sure  of  his  mother's  love,  but  almost 
(loabted  the  justice  of  his  God. 


CHAPTER  III. 


Mr.  Wardlaw  went  down  to  his  son,  and 
nursed  him.  He  kept  the  newspapers  from  him, 
and,  on  his  fever  abating,  had  him  conveyed  by 
easy  stages  to  the  seaside,  and  then  sent  him 
abroad. 

The  young  man  obeyed  in  gloomy  silence.  He 
never  asked  after  Robert  Penfold,  now ;  never 
mentioned  his  name.  He  seemed,  somehow, 
thankful  to  be  controlled  mind  and  body. 

But,  before  he  had  been  abroad  a  month,  he 
wrote  for  leave  to  return  home  and  to  throw  him- 
self into  business.  There  was,  for  once,  a  ner- 
vous impatience  in  his  letters,  and  his  father,  who 
pitied  him  deeply,  and  was  more  than  ever  in- 
clined to  reward'and  indulge  him,  yielded  readi- 
ly enough  ;  and,  on  his  arrival,  signed  the  part- 
nership deed,  and  Polonius-like,  gave  him  much 
good  counsel ;  then  retired  to  his  country  seat. 

At  first  he  used  to  run  up  every  three  days, 
and  examine  the  day-hook  and  ledger,  and  ad- 
vise his  junior ;  but  these  visits  soon  became  few- 
er, and  at  last  he  did  little  more  than  correspond 
occasionally. 

Arthur  Wardlaw  held  the  reins,  and  easily 
paid  his  Oxford  debts  out  of  the  assets  of  the 
firm.  Not  being  happy  in  his  mind,  he  threw 
himself  into  commerce  with  feverish  zeal,  and  very 
soon  extended  the  operations  of  the  house. 

One  of  his  first  acts  of  authority  was  to  send 
for  Michael  Penfold  into  his  room.  Now  poor 
old  Michael,  ever  since  his  son's  misfortune,  as 
he  called  it,  had  crept  to  his  desk  like  a  culprit, 
expecting  every  day  to  be  discharged.  When  he 
received  this  summons  he  gave  a  sigh  and  went 
slowly  to  the  young  merchant. 

Arthur  Wardlaw  looked  up  at  his  entrance, 
then  looked  down  again,  and  said  coldly,  "  Mr. 
Penfold,  you  have  been  a  faithful  servant  to  us 
many  years  ;  I  raise  your  salary  £50  a  year,  and 
you  will  keep  the  ledger." 

The  old  man  was  dumbfoundered  at  first,  and 
then  began  to  give  vent  to  his  surprise  and  grat- 
itude ;  but  Wardlaw  cut  him  short,  almost  fiercely. 
"  There,  there,  there,"  said  he,  without  raising  his 
eyes,  "  let  me  hear  no  more  about  it,  and,  above 
all,  never  speak  to  me  of  that  cursed  business. 
It  was  no  fault  of  yours,  nor  mine  neither. 
There — go — I  want  no  thanks.  Do  you  hear  ? 
leave  me,  Mr.  Penfold,  if  you  please." 

The  old  man  bowed  low  and  retired,  wonder- 
ing much  at  his  employer's  goodness,  and  a  lit- 
tle at  his  irritability. 

Wardlaw  junior's  whole  soul  was  given  to 
business  night  and  day,  and  he  soon  became 
known  for  a  very  ambitious  and  rising  merchant. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


11 


But,  by-and-by,  ambition  bad  to  encounter  a 
rival  in  his  heart,  lie  fell  in  love ;  deeply  in 
love  ;  and  with  a  worthy  object. 

The  young  lady  was  the  daughter  of  a  distin- 
guished officer,  whose  merits  were  universally 
recognized,  but  not  rewarded  in  proportion. 
Wardlaw's  suit  was  favorably  received  by  the 
father,  and  the  daughter  gradually  yielded  to  an 
attachment,  the  warmth,  sincerity,  and  single- 
ness of  which  were  manifest:  and  the  pair  would 
have  been  married,  but  for  the  circumstance  that 
her  father  (partly  through  Wardlaw's  influence, 
by-the-by)  had  obtained  a  lucrative  post  abroad 
which  it  suited  his  means  to  accept,  at  all  events 
for  a  time.  He  was  a  widower,  and  his  daugh- 
ter could  not  let  him  go  alone. 

This  temporary  separation,  if  it  postponed  a 
marriage,  led  naturally  to  a  solemn  engagement ; 
and  Arthur  Wardlaw  enjoyed  the  happiness  of 
writing  and  receiving  affectionate  letters  by  every 
foreign  post.  Love,  worthily  bestowed,  shed 
its  balm  upon  his  heart,  and,  under  its  soft  but 
powerful  charm,  he  grew  tranquil  and  compla- 
cent, and  his  character  and  temper  seemed  to 
improve.  Such  virtue  is  there  in  a  pure  attach- 
ment. 

Meanwhile  the  extent  of  his  operations  alarm- 
ed old  Penfold  ;  but  he  soon  reasoned  that  worthy 
down  with  overpowering  conclusions  and  supe- 
rior smiles. 

He  had  been  three  years  the  ruling  spirit  of 
Wardlaw  and  Son,  when  some  curious  events 
took  place  in  another  hemisphere ;  and  in  these 
events,  which  we  are  now  to  relate,  Arthur 
Wardlaw  was  more  nearly  interested  than  may 
appear  at  first  sight. 

Robert  Penfold,  in  due  course,  applied  to 
Lieutenant-general  Rolleston  for  a  ticket  of 
leave.  That  functionary  thought  the  applica- 
tion premature,  the  crime  being  so  grave.  He 
complained  that  the  system  had  become  too  lax, 
and  for  his  part  he  seldom  gave  a  ticket  of  leave 
until  some  suitable  occupation  was  provided  for 
the  applicant.  "Will  any  body  take  you  as  a 
clerk  ?     If  so,  I'll  see  about  it." 

Robert  Penfold  could  find  nobody  to  take  him 
into  a  post  of  confidence  all  at  once,  and  wrote 
the  General  an  eloquent  letter,  begging  hard  to 
be  allowed  to  labor  with  his  hands. 

Fortunately,  General  Rolleston's  gardener  had 
just  turned  him  off;  so  he  offered  the  post  to 
his  eloquent  correspondent,  remarking  that  he 
did  not  much  mind  employing  a  ticket-of-leave 
man  himself,  though  he  was  resolved  to  protect 
his  neighbors  from  their  relapses. 

The  convict  then  came  to  General  Rolleston, 
and  begged  leave  to  enter  on  his  duties  under 
the  name  of  James  Seaton.  At  that  General 
Rolleston  hem'd  and  haw'd,  and  took  a  note. 
But  his  final  decision  was  as  follows:  "If  you 
really  mean  to  change  your  character,  why,  the 
name  you  have  disgraced  might  hang  round 
your  neck.  Well,  I'll  give  you  every  chance. 
But,"  said  the  old  warrior,  suddenly  compress- 
ing his  resolute  lips  just  a  little,  "  if  you  go  a 
yard  off  the  straight  path  now,  look  for  no  mer- 
cy, Jemmy  Seaton." 

So  the  convict  was  re-christened  at  the  tail  of 
a  threat,  and  let  loose  among  the  warrior's  tu- 
lips. 

His  appearance  was  changed  as  effectually  as 


his  name.  Even  before  he  was  Seatoned  he  had 
grown  a  silky  mustache  and  beard  of  singular 
length  and  beauty  ;  and,  what  with  these,  and 
his  working-man's  clothes,  and  his  cheeks  and 
neck  tanned  by  the  sun,  our  readers  would  never 
have  recognized  in  this  hale,  bearded  laborer  the 
pale  prisoner  that  had  trembled,  raged,  wept, 
and  submitted  in  the  dock  of  the  Central  Crim- 
inal Court. 

Our  Universities  cave  men  of  doing  things  by 
halves,  be  the  things  mental  or  muscular ;  so 
Seaton  gardened  much  more  zealously  than  his 
plebeian  predecessor:  up  at  five,  and  did  not 
leave  till  eight. 

But  he  was  unpopular  in  the  kitchen, — because 
he  was  always  out  of  it :  taciturn  and  bitter,  he 
shunned  his  fellow-servants. 

Yet  working  among  the  flowers  did  him  good  ; 
these,  his  petty  companions  and  nurslings,  had  no 
vices. 

One  day,  as  he  was  rolling  the  grass  upon  the 
lawn,  he  heard  a  soft  rustle  at  some  distance, 
and,  looking  round,  saw  a  young  lady  on  the 
gravel-path,  whose  calm  but  bright  face,  coming 
so  suddenly,  literally  dazzled  him.  She  had  a 
clear  cheek  blooming  with  exercise,  rich  brown 
hair,  smooth,  glossy,  and  abundant,  and  a  very 
light  hazel  eye,  of  singular  beauty  and  serenity. 
She  glided  along,  tranquil  as  a  goddess,  smote 
him  with  beauty  and  perfume,  and  left  him 
staring  after  her  receding  figure,  which  was,  in 
its  way,  as  captivating  as  her  face. 

She  was  walking  up  and  down  for  exercise, 
briskly,  but  without  effort.  Once  she  passed 
within  a  few  yards  of  him,  and  he  touched  his 
hat  to  her.  She  inclined  her  head  gently,  but 
her  eyes  did  not  rest  an  instant  on  her  garden- 
er; and  so  she  passed  and  re-passed,  uncon- 
sciously sawing  this  solitary  heart  with  soft  but 
penetrating  thrills. 

At  last  she  went  in-doors  to  luncheon,  and 
the  lawn  seemed  to  miss  the  light  music  of  her 
rustling  dress,  and  the  sunshine  of  her  presence, 
and  there  was  a  painful  void ;  but  that  passed, 
and  a  certain  sense  of  happiness  stole  over  James 
Seaton — an  unreasonable  joy,  that  often  runs  be- 
fore folly  and  trouble. 

The  young  lady  was  Helen  Rolleston,  just  re- 
turned home  from  a  visit.  She  walked  in  the 
garden  every  day,  and  Seaton  watched  her,  and 
peeped  at  her,  unseen,  behind  trees  and  bushes. 
He  fed  his  eyes  and  his  heart  upon  her,  and,  by 
degrees,  she  became  the  sun  of  his  solitary  ex- 
istence. It  was  madness  ;  but  its  first  effect  was 
not  unwholesome.  The  daily  study  of  this  crea- 
ture, who,  though  by  no  means  the  angel  he  took 
her  for,  was  at  all  events  a  pure  and  virtuous 
woman,  soothed  his  sore  heart,  and  counteracted 
the  demoralizing  influences  of  his  late  compan- 
ions. Every  day  he  drank  deeper  of  an  insane, 
but  purifying  and  elevating  passion. 

He  avoided  the  kitchen  still  more ;  and  that, 
by-the-by,  was  unlucky  ;  for  there  he  could  have 
learned  something  about  Miss  Helen  Rolleston 
that  would  have  warned  him  to  keep  at  the  other 
end  of  the  garden  whenever  that  charming  face 
and  form  glided  to  and  fro  amongst  the  minor 
flowers. 

A  beautiful  face  fires  our  imagination,  and  we 
see  higher  virtue  and  intelligence  in  it  than  we 
can  detect  in  its  owner's  head  or  heart  when  we 
descend  to  calm  inspection.     James  Seaton  gazed 


12 


FOUL  PLAY. 


on  Miss  Rolleston  day  after  day,  at  so  respectful 
a  distance,  that  she  became  his  goddess.  If  a 
day  passed  without  his  seeing  her,  he  was  deject- 
ed. .When  she  was  behind  her  time,  he  was 
restless,  anxious,  and  his  work  distasteful ;  and 
then,  when  she  came  out  at  last,  he  thrilled  all 
over,  and  the  lawn,  ay,  the  world  itself,  seemed 
to  fill  with  sunshine.  His  adoration,  timid  by 
its  own  nature,  was  doubly  so  by  reason  of  his 
fallen  and  hopeless  condition.  He  cut  nosegays 
for  her ;  but  gave  them  to  her  maid  Wilson  for 
her.  He  had  not  the  courage  to  offer  them  to 
herself. 

One  evening,  as  he  went  home,  a  man  address- 
ed him  familiarly,  but  in  a  low  voice.  Seaton 
looked  at  him  attentively,  and  recognized  him  at 
last.  It  was  a  convict  called  Butt,  who  had 
come  over  in  the  ship  with  him.  The  man  offer- 
ed him  a  glass  of  ale ;  Seaton  declined  it.  Butt, 
a  veiy  clever  rogue,  seemed  hurt ;  so  then  Sea- 
ton assented  reluctantly.  Butt  took  him  to  a 
public  house  in  a  narrow  street,  and  into  a  pri- 
vate room.  Seaton  started  as  soon  as  he  enter- 
ed, for  there  sat  two  repulsive  ruffians,  and,  by 
a  look  that  passed  rapidly  between  them  and 
Butt,  he  saw  plainly  that  they  were  waiting  for 
him.  He  felt  nervous ;  the  place  was  so  uncouth 
and  dark,  the  faces  so  villainous. 

However,  they  invited  him  to  sit  down,  rough- 
ly, but  with  an  air  of  good  fellowship ;  and  very 
soon  opened  their  business  over  their  ale.  We 
are  all  bound  to  assist  our  fellow-creatures,  when 
it  can  be  done  without  trouble;  and  what  they 
asked  of  him  was  a  simple  act  of  courtesy,  such 
as  in  their  opinion  no  man  worthy  of  the  name 
could  deny  to  his  fellow.  It  was  to  give  Gen- 
eral Roleston's  watch-dog  a  piece  of  prepared 
meat  upon  a  certain  evening  ;  and,  in  return  for 
this  trifling  civility,  they  were  generous  enough 
to  offer  him  a  full  share  of  any  light  valuables 
they  might  find  in  the  General's  house. 

Seaton  trembled,  and  put  his  face  in  his  hands 
a  moment.     "  I  can  not  do  it,"  said  he. 

"Why  not?" 

"  He  has  been  too  good  to  me." 

A  coarse  laugh  of  derision  greeted  this  argu- 
ment ;  it  seemed  so  irrelevant  to  these  pure  ego- 
tists. Seaton,  however,  persisted,  and  on  that 
one  of  the  men  got  up  and  stood  before  the  door, 
and  drew  his  knife  gently. 

Seaton  glanced  his  eyes  round  in  search  of  a 
weapon,  and  turned  pale. 

"Do  you  mean  to  split  on  us,  mate?'"'  said 
one  of  the  ruffians  in  front  of  him. 

"No,  I  don't.  But  I  won't  rob  my  benefac- 
tor: you  shall  kill  me  first."  And  with  that  he 
darted  to  the  fireplace,  and  in  a  moment  the 
poker  was  high  in  air,  and  the  way  he  squared 
his  shoulders  and  stood  ready  to  hit  to  the  on, 
or  cut  to  the  off,  was  a  caution. 

"  Come,  drop  that,"  said  Butt,  grimly ;  M  and 
put  up  your  knife,  Bob.  Can't  a  pal  be  out  of  a 
job,  and  yet  not  split  on  them  that  is  in  it  ?" 

"  Why  should  I  split  ?"  said  Robert  Penfold. 
"  Has  the  law  been  a  friend  to  me  ?  But  I  wron't 
rob  my  benefactor — and  his  daughter." 

' '  That  is  square  enough,"  said  Butt.  ' '  Why, 
pals,  there  are  other  cribs  to  be  cracked  besides 
that  old  bloke's.  Finish  the  ale,  mate,  and  part 
friends." 

"If  you  will  promise  me  to  'crack  some  other 
crib,'  and  let  that  one  alone." 


A  sullen  assent  was  given,  and  Seaton  drank 
their  healths,  and  walked  away.  Butt  followed 
him  soon  after,  and  affected  to  side  with  him,  and 
intimated  that  he  himself  was  capable  of  not  rob- 
bing a  man's  house  who  had  been  good  to  him, 
or  to  a  pal  of  his.  Indeed,  this  plausible  person 
said  so  much,  and  his  sullen  comrades  had  said 
so  little,  that  Seaton,  rendered  keen  and  anxious 
by  love,  invested  his  savings  in  a  Colt's  revolver 
and  ammunition. 

He  did  not  stop  there  ;  after  the  hint  about 
the  watch-dog,  he  would  not  trust  that  faithful 
but  too  carnivorous  animal ;  he  brought  his  blan- 
kets into  the  little  tool-house,  and  lay  there  every 
night  in  a  sort  of  dog's  sleep.  This  tool-house 
was  erected  in  a  little  back  garden,  separated 
from  the  lawn  only  by  some  young  trees  in  single 
file.  Now  Miss  Rolleston's  window  looked  out 
upon  the  lawn,  so  that  Seaton's  watch-tower  was 
not  many  yards  from  it ;  then,  as  the  tool-house 
was  only  lighted  from  above,  lie  bored  a  hole  in 
the  wooden  structure,  and  through  this  he  watch- 
ed, and  slept,  and  watched.  He  used  to  sit 
studying  theology  by  a  farthing  rushlight  till  the 
lady's  bedtime,  and  then  he  watched  for  her 
shadow.  If  it  appeared  for  a  few  moments  on 
the  blind,  he  gave  a  sigh  of  content,  and  went  to 
sleep,  but  awaked  every  now  and  then  to  see  that 
all  was  well. 

After  a  few  nights,  his  alarms  naturally  ceased, 
but  his  love  increased,  fed  now  from  this  new 
source,  the  sweet  sense  of  being  the  secret  pro- 
tector of  her  he  adored. 

Meantime  Miss  Rolleston's  lady's  maid,  Wil- 
son, fell  in  love  with  him  after  her  fashion ;  she 
had  taken  a  fancy  to  his  face  at  once,  and  he  had 
encouraged  her  a  little,  unintentionally ;  for  he 
brought  the  nosegays  to  her,  and  listened  com- 
placently to  her  gossip,  for  the  sake  of  the  few 
words  she  let  fall  now  and  then  about  her  young 
mistress.  As  he  never  exchanged  two  sentences 
at  a  time  with  any  other  servant,  this  flattered 
Sarah  Wilson,  and  she  soon  began  to  meet  and 
accost  him  oftener,  and  in  cherrier-colored  rib- 
bons, than  he  could  stand.  So  then  he  showed 
impatience,  and  then  she,  reading  him  by  her- 
self, suspected  some  vulgar  rival. 

Suspicion  soon  bred  jealousy,  jealousy  vigi- 
lance, and  vigilance  detection. 

Her  first  discovery  was  that,  so  long  as  she 
talked  of  Miss  Helen  Rolleston,  she  was  always 
welcome ;  her  second  was,  that  Seaton  slept  in 
the  tool-house. 

She  was  not  romantic  enough  to  connect  her 
two  discoveries  together.  They  lay  apart  in  her 
mind,  until  circumstances  we  are  about  to  relate 
supplied  a  connecting  link. 

One  Thursday  evening  James  Seaton's  god- 
dess sat  alone  with  her  papa,  and,  —  being  a 
young  lady  of  fair  abilities,  who  had  gone  through 
her  course  of  music  and  other  studies,  taught 
brainlessly,  and  who  was  now  going  through  a 
course  of  monotonous  pleasures,  and  had  not  ac- 
cumulated any  great  store  of  mental  resources, 
— she  was  listless  and  languid,  and  would  have 
yawned  forty  times  in  her  papa's  face,  only  she 
was  too  well  bred.  She  always  turned  her  head 
away  when  it  came,  and  either  suppressed  it,  or 
else  hid  it  with  a  lovely  white  hand.  At  last,  as 
she  was  a  good  girl,  she  blushed  at  her  behavior, 
and  roused  herself  up,  and  said  she,  "Papa,  shall 
I  play  you  the  new  quadrilles  !" 


FOUL  PLAY. 


13 


Papa  gave  a  start  and  a  shake,  and  said,  with 
well-feigned  vehemence,  "Ay,  do,  my  dear,"  and 
so  composed  himself — to  listen ;  and  Helen  sat 
down  and  played  the  quadrilles. 

The  composer  had  taken  immortal  melodies, 
some  gay,  some  sad,  and  had  robbed  them  of 
their  distinctive  character,  and  hashed  them  till 
they  were  all  one  monotonous  rattle.  But  Gen- 
eral Rolleston  was  little  the  worse  for  all  this. 
As  Apollo  saved  Horace  from  hearing  a  poetas- 
ter's rhymes,  so  did  Somnus,  another  beneficent 
little  deity,  rescue  our  warrior  from  his  daugh- 
ter's music. 

She  was  neither  angry  nor  surprised.  A  de- 
licious smile  illumined  her  face  directly;  she 
crept  to  him  on  tiptoe,  and  bestowed  a  kiss,  light 
as  a  zephyr,  on  his  gray  head.  And,  in  truth, 
the  bending  attitude  of  this  supple  figure,  clad  in 
snowy  muslin,  the  virginal  face  and  light  hazel 
eye  beaming  love  and  reverence,  and  the  airy 
kiss,  had  something  angelic. 

She  took  her  candle,  and  glided  up  to  her 
bedroom.  And,  the  moment  she  got  there,  and 
could  gratify  her  somnolence  without  offense, 
need  we  say  she  became  wide-awake  ?  She  sat 
down,  and  wrote  long  letters  to  three  other  young 
ladies,  gushing  affection,  asking  questions  of  the 
kind  nobody  replies  to,  painting,  with  a  young 
lady's  colors,  the  male  being  to  wfiom  she  was 
shortly  to  be  married,  wishing  her  dear  friends 
a  like  demigod,  if  perchance  earth  contained 
two ;  and  so  to  the  last  new  bonnet  and  preacher. 

She  sat  over  her  paper  till  one  o'clock,  and 
Seaton  watched  and  adored  her  shadow. 

When  she  had  done  writing,  she  opened  her 
window  and  looked  out  upon  the  night.  She 
lifted  those  wonderful  hazel  eyes  towards  the 
stars,  and  her  watcher  might  well  be  pardoned 
if  he  saw  in  her  a  celestial  being  looking  up  from 
an  earthly  resting-place  towards  her  native  sky. 

At  two  o'clock  she  was  in  bed,  but  not  asleep. 
She  lay  calmly  gazing  at  the  Southern  Cross,  and 
other  lovely  stars  shining  with  vivid,  but  chaste, 
fire  in  the  purple  vault  of  heaven.  , 

While  thus  employed  she  heard  a  slight  sound 
outside  that  made  her  turn  her  eyes  towards  a 
young  tree  near  her  window.  Its  top  branches 
were  waving  a  good  deal,  though  there  was  not  a 
breath  stirring.  This  struck  her  as  curious,  very 
curious. 

Whilst  she  wondered,  suddenly  an  arm  and 
a  hand  came  in  sight,  and  after  them  the  whole 
figure  of  a  man,  going  up  the  tree. 

Helen  sat  up  now,  glaring  with  terror,  and 
was  so  paralyzed  she  did  not  utter  a  sound. 
About  a  foot  below  her  window  was  a  lead  flat 
that  roofed  the  bay-window  below.  It  covered 
an  area  of  several  feet,  and  the  man  sprang  on  to 
it  with  perfect  ease  from  the  tree.  Helen  shriek- 
ed with  terror.  At  that  very  instant  there  was  a 
flash,  a  pistol-shot,  and  the  man's  arms  went  whirl- 
ing, and  he  staggered  and  fell  over  the  edge  of 
the  flat,  and  struck  the  grass  below  with  a  heavy 
thud.  Shots  and  blows  followed,  and  all  the 
sounds  of  a  bloody  struggle  rung  in  Helen's  ears 
as  she  flung  herself  screaming  from  the  bed  and 
darted  to  the  door.  She  ran  and  clung  quiver- 
ing to  her  sleepy  maid,  Wilson.  The  house  was 
alarmed,  lights  flashed,  footsteps  pattered,  there 
was  universal  commotion. 

General  Rolleston  soon  learned  his  daughter's 


story  from  Wilson,  and  aroused  his  male  servants, 
one  of  whom  was  an  old  soldier.  They  searched 
the  house  first ;  but  no  entrance  had  been  effect- 
ed ;  so  they  went  out  on  the  lawn  with  blunder- 
buss and  pistol. 

They  found  a  man  lying  on  his  back  at  the 
foot  of  the  bay-window. 

They  pounced  on  him,  and,  to  their  amaze- 
ment, it  was  the  gardener,  James  Seaton.  In- 
sensible. 

General  Rolleston  was  quite  taken  aback  for  a 
moment.  Then  he  was  sorry.  But,  after  a  lit- 
tle reflection,  he  said  very  sternly,  "  Carry  the 
blackguard  in-doors,  and  run  for  an  officer." 

Seaton  was  taken  into  the  hall,  and  laid  flat  on 
the  floor. 

All  the  servants  gathered  about  him,  brimful 
of  curiosity,  and  the  female  ones  began  to  speak 
all  together;  but  General  Rolleston  told  them 
sharply  to  hold  their  tongues,  and  to  retire  be- 
hind the  man.  "Somebody  sprinkle  him  with 
cold  water,"  said  he  ;  "  and  be  quiet,  all  of  you, 
and  keep  out  of  sight,  while  I.  examine  him." 
He  stood  before  the  insensible  figure  with  hs 
arms  folded,  amidst  a  dead  silence,  broken  ony 
by  the  stifled  sobs  of  Sarah  Wilson,  and  of  a  so- 
ciable housemaid  who  cried,  with  her  for  com- 
pany. 

And  now  Seaton  began  to  writhe  and  show 
signs  of  returning  sense. 

Next  he  moaned  piteously,  and  sighed.  But 
General  Rolleston  could  not  pity  him  ;  he  wait- 
ed grimly  for  returning  consciousness,  to  subject 
him  to  merciless  interrogatory. 

He  waited  just  one  second  too  long.  He  had 
to  answer  a  question  instead  of  putting  one. 

The  judgment  is  the  last  faculty  a  man  recov- 
ers when  emerging  from  insensibility;  and  Sea- 
ton, seeing  the  General  standing  before  him, 
stretched  out  his  hands,  and  said,  in  a  faint,  but 
earnest  voice,  before  eleven  witnesses,  "Is  she 
safe?     Oh.  is  she  safe ?" 


CHAPTER  IV. 


Sakah  Wilson  left  off  crying,  and  looked 
down  on  the  ground  with  a  very  red  face.  Gen- 
eral Rolleston  was  amazed.  "  '  Is  she  safe  ?'  Is 
who  safe  ?"  said  he.  "  He  means  my  mistress," 
replied  Wilson,  rather  brusquely  ;  and  flounced 
out  of  the  hall. 

"  She  is  safe,  no  thanks  to  you,"  said  General 
Rolleston.  "  What  were  you  doing  under  her 
window  at  this  time  of  night  ?"  And  the  harsh 
tone  in  which  this  question  was  put  showed  Sea- 
ton he  was  suspected.  This  wounded  him,  and 
he  replied  doggedly,  "Lucky  for  you  all  I  was 
there." 

"That  is  no  answer  to  my  question,"  said  the 
General,  sternly. 

"  It  is  all  the  answer  I  shall  give  you." 

"  Then  I  shall  hand  you  over  to  the  officer, 
without  another  word." 

"Do,  sir,  do,"  said  Seaton,  bitterly;  but  he 
added  more  gently,  "you  will  be  sorry  for  it 
when  you  come  to  your  senses." 

At  this  moment  Wilson  entered  with  a  mes- 
sage. "If  you  please,  sir,  Miss  Rolleston  says 
the  robber  had  no  beard.  Miss  have  never  no- 
ticed Seaton's  face,  but  the  beard  she  have  ;  and 


u 


FOUL  PLAY. 


oh,  if  you  please,  sir,  she  begged  me  to  ask  him, 
— Was  it  you  that  fired  the  pistol  and  shot  the 
robber  ?'' 

The  delivery  of  this  ungrammatical  message  but 
rational  query  was  like  a  ray  of  light  streaming 
into  a  dark  place :  it  changed  the  whole  aspect 
of  things.  As  for  Seaton,  he  received  it  as  if 
Heaven  was  speaking  to  him  through  Wilson. 
His  sullen  air  relaxed,  the  water  stood  in  his 
eyes,  he  smiled  affectionately,  and  said  in  a  low, 
tender  voice,  "Tell  her  I  heard  some  bad  char- 
acters talking  about  this  house, — that  was  a 
month  ago, — so,  ever  since  then,  I  have  slept  in 
the  tool-house  to  watch.  Yes,  I  shot  the  robber 
with  my  revolver,  and  I  marked  one  or  two  more ; 
but  they  were  three  to  one ;  I  think  I  must  have 
got  a  blow  on  the  head  ;  for  I  felt  nothing — " 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  a  violent  scream 
from  Wilson.  She  pointed  downward,  with  her 
eyes  glaring ;  and  a  little  blood  was  seen  to  be 
trickling  slowly  over  Seaton's  stocking  and  shoe. 

"Wounded,"  said  the  General's  servant,  Tom, 
in  the  business-like  accent  of  one  who  had  seen 
a  thousand  wounds. 

"Oh,  never  mind  that,"  said  Seaton.  "It 
can't  be  very  deep,  for  I  don't  feel  it ;"  then,  fix- 
ing his  eyes  on  General  Eolleston,  he  said,  in  a 
voice  that  broke  down  suddenly,  "  There  stands 
the  only  man  who  has  wounded  me  to-night,  to 
hurt  me." 

The  way  General  Kollcston  received  this  point- 
blank  reproach  surprised  some  persons  present, 
who  had  observed  only  the  imperious  and  iron 
side  of  his  character.  He  hung  his  head  in  si- 
lence a  moment ;  then,  being  discontented  with 
himself,  he  went  into  a  passion  with  his  servants 
for  standing  idle.  "Run  away,  you  women," 
said  he,  roughly.  "Now,  Tom,  if  you  are  good 
for  any  thing,  strip  the  man  and  stanch  his 
wound.     Andrew,  a  bottle  of  port,  quick !" 

Then,  leaving  him  for  a  while  in  friendly 
hands,  he  went  to  his  daughter,  and  asked  her 
if  she  saw  any  objection  to  a  bed  being  made  up 
in  the  house  for  the  wounded  convict. 

"Oh,  papa,"  said  she,  "why,  of  course  not. 
I  am  all  gratitude.  What  is  he  like,  Wilson? 
for  it  is  a  most  provoking  thing,  I  never  noticed 
his  face,  only  his  beautiful  beard  glittering  in 
the  sunshine  ever  so  far  off.  Poor  young  man ! 
Oh  yes,  papa!  send  him  to  bed  directly,  and  we 
will  all  nurse  him.  I  never  did  any  good  in  the 
world  yet,  and  so  why  not  begin  at  once  ?" 

General  Rolleston  laughed  at  this  squirt  of 
enthusiasm  from  his  staid  daughter,  and  went 
off  to  give  the  requisite  orders. 

But  Wilson  followed  him  immediately  and 
stopped  him  in  the  passage. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  I  think  you  had  better 
not.  I  have  something  to  tell  you."  She  then 
communicated  to  him  by  degrees  her  suspicion 
that  James  Seaton  was  in  love  with  his  daughter. 
He  treated  this  with  due  ridicule  at  first ;  but  she 
gave  him  one  reason  after  another  till  she  stag- 
gered him,  and  he  went  down-stairs  in  a  most 
mixed  and  puzzled  frame  of  mind,  inclined  to 
laugh,  inclined  to  be  angry,  inclined  to  be  sorry. 

The  officer  had  just  arrived,  and  was  looking 
over  some  photographs  to  see  if  James  Seaton 
was  "  one  of  his  birds."  Such,  alas  !  was  his 
expression. 

At  sight  of  this  Rolleston  colored  up ;  but  ex- 
tricated himself  from  the  double  difficulty  with 


some  skill.  "Hexham,"  said  he,  "this  poor 
fellow  has  behaved  like  a  man,  and  got  himself 
wounded  in  my  service.  You  are  to  take  him 
to  the  infirmary ;  but,  mind,  they  must  treat 
him  like  my  own  son,  and  nothing  he  asks  for 
be  denied  him." 

Seaton  walked  with  feeble  steps,  and  leaning 
on  two  men,  to  the  infirmary;  and  General 
Rolleston  ordered  a  cup  of  coffee,  lighted  a  ci- 
gar, and  sat  cogitating  over  this  strange  busi- 
ness, and  asking  himself  how  he  could  get  rid 
of  this  young  madman,  and  yet  befriend  him. 
As  for  Sarah  Wilson,  she  went  to  bed  discon- 
tented, and  wondering  at  her  own  bad  judg- 
ment. She  saw,  too  late,  that,  if  she  had  held 
her  tongue,  Seaton  would  have  been  her  patient 
and  her  prisoner;  and  as  for  Miss  Rolleston, 
when  it  came  to  the  point,  why,  she  would  never 
have  nursed  him  except  by  proxy,  and  the  proxy 
would  have  been  Sarah  Wilson. 

However,  the  blunder  blind  passion  had  led 
her  into  was  partially  repaired  by  Miss  Rolles- 
ton herself.  When  she  heard,  next  day,  where 
Seaton  was  gone,  she  lifted  up  her  hands  in 
amazement.  "  What  could  papa  be  thinking  of 
to  send  our  benefactor  to  a  hospital?"  And 
after  meditating  awhile,  she  directed  Wilson  to 
cut  a  nosegay  and  carry  it  to  Seaton.  "He  is 
a  gardener,"  said  she,  innocently.  "  Of  course 
he  will  miss  his  flowers  sadly  in  that  miserable 
place." 

And  she  gave  the  same  order  every  day,  with 
a  constancy  that,  you  must  know,  formed  part 
of  this  young  lady's  character.  Soup,  wine,  and 
jellies  were  sent  from  the  kitchen  every  other 
day  with  equal  pertinacity. 

Wilson  concealed  the  true  donor  of  all  those 
things,  and  took  the  credit  to  herself.  By  this 
means  she  obtained  the  patient's  gratitude,  and 
he  showed  it  so  frankly,  she  hoped  to  steal  his 
love  as  well. 

But  no  !  his  fancy  and  his  heart  remained 
true  to  the  cold  beauty  he  had  served  so  well, 
and  she  had  forgotten  him,  apparently. 

This  irritated  Wilson  at  last,  and  she  set  to 
work  to  cure  him  with  wholsome,  but  bitter 
medicine.  She  sat  down  beside  him  one  day, 
and  said,  cheerfully.  "  We  are  all  'on  the  key- 
feet  '  just  now.  Miss  Rolleston's  beau  is  come 
on  a  visit." 

The  patient  opened  his  eyes  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"Miss  Rolleston's  bean  ?" 

"Ay,  her  intended.  What,  didn't  you  know 
she  was  engaged  to  be  married  ?" 

"She  engaged  to  be  married?"  gasped  Sea- 
ton. 

Wilson  watched  him  with  a  remorseless  eye. 

"  Why,  James,"  said  she,  after  a  while,  "did 
you  think  the  likes  of  her  would  go  through  the 
world  without  a  mate  ?" 

Seaton  made  no  reply  but  a  moan,  and  lay 
back  like  one  dead,  utterly  crushed  by  this  cruel 
blow. 

A  buxom  middle-aged  nurse  now  came  up, 
and  said,  with  a  touch  of  severity,  "  Come,  my 
good  girl,  no  doubt  you  mean  well,  but  you  are 
doing  ill.  You  had  better  leave  him  to  us  for 
the  present." 

On  this  hint  Wilson  bounced  out,  and  left  the 
patient  to  his  misery. 

At  her  next  visit  she  laid  a  nosegay  on  his 


FOUL  PLAY. 


15 


bed,  and  gossiped  away,  talking  of  every  thing 
in  the  world  except  Miss  Rolleston. 

At  last  she  came  to  a  pause,  and  Seaton  laid 
his  hand  on  her  arm  directly,  and,  looking  pite- 
ously  in  her  face,  spoke  his  first  word. 
"Does  she  love  him?" 

"What,  still  harping  on  her?"  said  Wilson. 
"Well,  she  doesn't  hate  him,  I  suppose,  or  she 
would  not  marry  him." 

"For  pity's  sake  don't  trifle  with  me !  Does 
she  love  him?" 

"La,  James,  how  can  I  tell?  She  mayn't 
love  him  quite  as  much  as  I  could  love  a  man 
that  took  my  fancy"  (here  she  cast  a  languish- 
ing glance  on  Seaton)  ;  "hut  I  see  wo  difference 
between  her  and  other  young  ladies.  Miss  is 
very  fond  of  her  papa,  for  one  thing ;  and  he 
favors  the  match.  Ay,  and  she  likes  her  partner 
well  enough :  she  is  brighter  like,  now  he  is  in 
the  house,  and  she  reads  all  her  friends'  letters 
to  him  ever  so  lovingly ;  and  I  do  notice  she 
leans  on  him,  out  walking,  a  trifle  more  than 
there  is  any  need  for." 

At  this  picture  James  Seaton  writhed  in  his 
bed  like  some  agonized  creature  under  vivisec- 
tion ;  but  the  woman  spurred  by  jealousy,  and 
also  by  egotistical  passion,  had  no  mercy  left 
for  him. 

"And  why  not?"  continued  she;  "he  is 
young,  and  handsome,  and  rich,  and  he  dotes  on 
her.  If  you  are  really  her  friend,  you  ought  to 
be  glad  she  is  so  well  suited." 

At  this  admonition  the  tears  stood  in  Seaton 's 
eyes,  and  after  a  while  he  got  strength  to  say, 
"  I  know  I  ought,  I  know  it,  if  he  is  only  worthy 
of  her,  as  worthy  as  any  man  could  be." 

"  That  he  is,  James.     Why,  I'll  be  bound  you 
have  heard  of  him.     It  is  young  Mr.  Wardlaw," 
Seaton  started  up  in  bed.      "Who?  Ward- 
law  ?  what  Wardlaw  ?" 

"What  Wardlaw?  why,  the  great  London 
merchant,  his  son.  Leastways  he  manages  the 
whole  concern  now,  I  hear  ;  the  old  gentleman, 
he  is  retired,  by  all  accounts." 

"Curse  him!  curse  him!  curse  him!" 
yelled  James  Seaton,  with  his  eyes  glaring  fear- 
fully, and  both  hands  beating  the  air. 
Sarah  Wilson  recoiled  with  alarm. 
"That  angel  marry  him  /"  shrieked  Seaton. 
"Never,  while  I  live:  I'll  throttle  him  with 
these  hands  first."  * 

What  more  his  ungovernable  fury  would  have 
uttered  was  interrupted  by  a  rush  of  nurses  and 
attendants,  and  Wilson  was  bundled  out  of  the 
place  with  little  ceremony. 

He  contrived,  however,  to  hurl  a  word  after 
her,  accompanied  with  a  look  of  concentrated 
rage  and  resolution. 

"Never,  I  tell  you, — while  I  live." 
At  her  next  visit  to  the  hospital,  Wilson  was 
refused    admission   by   order  of  the  head  sur- 
geon.    She  left  her  flowers  daily  all  the  same. 

After  a  few  days  she  thought  the  matter 
might  have  cooled,  and,  having  a  piece  of  news 
to  communicate  to  Seaton,  with  respect  to  Ar- 
thur Wardlaw,  she  asked  to  see  that  patient. 

"Left  the  hospital  this  morning,"  was  the  re- 
ply. 

"  What,  cured  ?" 

"Why  not?  We  have  cured  wcrse  cases 
than  his." 

"Where  has  he  gone  to ?     Pray  tell  me." 


"Oh,  certainly."  And  inquiry  was  made. 
But  the  reply  was,  "  Left  no  address." 

Sarah  Wilson,  like  many  other  women  of  high 
and  low  degree,  had  swift  misgivings  of  mis- 
chief to  come.  She  was  taken  with  a  fit  of  trem- 
bling, and  had  to  sit  down  in  the  hall. 

And,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  had  cause  to  trem- 
ble ;  for  that  tongue  of  hers  had  launched  two 
wild  beasts, — Jealousy  and  Revenge. 

When  she  got  better  she  went  home,  and, 
coward-like,  said  not  a  word  to  living  soul. 

That  day  Arthur  Wardlaw  dined  with  Gen- 
eral Rolleston  and  Helen.  They  were  to  be 
alone  for  a  certain  reason  ;  and  he  came  half  an 
hour  before  dinner.  Helen  thought  he  would, 
and  was  ready  for  him  on  the  lawn. 

They  walked  arm-in-arm,  talking  of  the  hap- 
piness before  them,  and  regretting  a  temporary 
separation  that  was  to  intervene.  He  was  her 
father's  choice,  and  she  loved  her  father  devo- 
tedly ;  he  was  her  male  property ;  and  young 
ladies  like  that  sort  of  property,  especially  when 
they  see  nothing  to  dislike  in  it.  He  loved  her 
passionately,  and  that  was  her  due,  and  pleased 
her  and  drew  a  gentle  affection,  if  not  a  passion 
from  her  in  return.  Yes,  that  lovely  forehead 
did  come  very  near  young  Wardlaw' s  shoulder 
more  than  once  or  twice,  as  they  strolled  slowly 
up  and  down  on  the  soft  mossy  turf. 

And,  on  the  other  side  of  the  hedge  that 
bounded  the  lawn,  a  man  lay  crouched  in  the 
ditch,  and  saw  it  all  with  gleaming  eyes. 

Just  before  the  affianced  ones  went  in,  Helen 
said,  "I  have  a  little  favor  to  ask  you,  dear. 
The  poor  man,  Seaton,  who  fought  the  robbers, 
and  was  wounded, — papa  says  he  is  a  man  of 
education,  and  wanted  to  be  a  clerk  or  some- 
thing.     Could  you  find  him  a  place?" 

"I  think  I  can,"  said  Wardlaw;  "indeed  I 
am  sure.  A  line  to  White  and  Co.  will  do  it ; 
they  want  a  shipping-clerk." 

"  Oh,  how  good  you  are!"  said  Helen  ;  and 
lifted  her  face  all  beaming  with  thanks. 

The  opportunity  was  tempting ;  the  lover  fond: 
two  faces  met  for  a  single  moment,  and  one  of 
the  two  burned  for  five  minutes  after. 

The  basilisk  eyes  saw  the  soft  collision ;  but 
the  owner  of  those  eyes  did  not  hear  the  words 
that  earned  him  that  torture.  He  lay  still  and 
bided  his  time. 

General  Rolleston's  house  stood  clear  of  the 
town  at  the  end  of  a  short,  but  narrow  and  tor- 
tuous lane.  This  situation  had  tempted  the  bur- 
glars whom  Seaton  baffled  ;  and  now  it  tempt- 
ed Seaton. 

Wardlaw  must  pass  that  way  on  leaving  Gen- 
eral Rolleston's  house. 

At  a  bend  of  the  lane  two  twin  elms  stood  out 
a  foot  or  two  from  the  hedge.  Seaton  got  be- 
hind these  at  about  ten  o'clock,  and  watched  for 
him  with  a  patience  and  immobility  that  boded 
ill. 

His  preparations  for  this  encounter  were  singu- 
lar. He  had  a  close-shutting  inkstand  and  a 
pen,  and  one  sheet  of  paper,  at  the  top  of  which 
he  had  written  "  Sydney,"  and  the  day  of  the 
month  and  year,  leaving  the  rest  blank.  And 
he  had  the  revolver  with  which  he  had  shot  the 
robber  at  Helen  Rolleston's  window ;  and  a  bar- 
rel of  that  arm  was  loaded  with  swan-shot. 


1G 


FOUL  PLAY. 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  moon  went  down;  the  stars  shone  out 
clearer. 

Eleven  o'clock  boomed  from  a  church  clock  in 
the  town. 

Wardlaw  did  not  come,  and  Seaton  did  not 
move  from  his  ambush. 

Twelve  o'clock  boomed,  and  "Wardlaw  never 
came,  and  Seaton  never  moved. 

Soon  after  midnight,  General  Rolleston's  hall 
door  opened,  and  a  figure  appeared  in  a  flood  of 
light.  Seaton's  eyes  gleamed  at  the  light,  for  it 
was  young  Wardlaw,  with  a  footman  at  his  back 
holding  a  lighted  lamp. 

Wardlaw,  however,  seemed  in  no  hurry  to 
leave  the  house,  and  the  reason  soon  appeared  ; 
he  was  joined  by  Helen  Rolleston,  and  she  was 
equipped  for  walking.  The  watcher  saw  her  se- 
rene face  shine  in  the  light.  The  General  him- 
self came  next :  and,  as  they  left  the  door,  out 
came  Tom  with  a  blunderbuss,  and  brought  up 
the  rear.  Seaton  drew  behind  the  trees,  and 
postponed,  but  did  not  resign,  his  purpose. 

Steps  and  murmurings  came,  and  passed  him, 
and  receded. 

The  only  words  he  caught  distinctly  came  from 
Wardlaw  as  he  passed.  "It  is  nearly  high 
tide.     1  fear  we  must  make  haste." 

Seaton  followed  the  whole  party  at  a  short  dis- 
tance, feeling  sure  they  would  eventually  sepa- 
rate and  give  him  his  opportunity  with  Wardlaw. 

The5T  went  down  to  the  harbor  and  took  a 
boat :  Seaton  came  nearer,  and  learned  they 
were  going  on  board  the  great  steamer  bound  for 
England,  that  loomed  so  black,  with  monstrous 
eyes  of  fire. 

They  put  off,  and  Seaton  stood  baffled. 

Presently  the  black  monster,  with  enormous 
eyes  of  fire,  spouted  her  steam  like  a  Leviathan, 
and  then  was  still ;  next  the  smoke  puffed,  the 
heavy  paddles  revolved,  and  she  rushed  out  of 
the  harbor;  and  Seaton  sat  down  upon  the 
ground,  and  all  seemed  ended.  Helen  gone  to 
England !  Wardlaw  gone  with  her !  Love  and 
revenge  had  alike  eluded  him.  He  looked  up 
at  the  sky,  and  played  with  the  pebbles  at  his 
feet,  stupidly,  stupidly.  He  wondered  why  he 
was  born ;  why  he  consented  to  live  a  single 
minute  after  this.  His  angel  and  his  demon 
gone  home  together !     And  he  left  here  ! 

He  wrote  a  few  lines  on  the  paper  he  had  in- 
tended for  Wardlaw,  sprinkled  them  with  sand, 
and  put  them  in  his  bosom,  then  stretched  him- 
self out  with  a  weary  moan,  like  a  dying  dog,  to 
wait  the  flow  of  the  tide,  and,  with  it,  Death. 
Whether  or  not  his  resolution  or  his  madness 
could  have  carried  him  so  far  can  not  be  known, 
for  even  as  the  water  rippled  in,  and,  trickling 
under  his  back,  chilled  him  to  the  bone,  a  sil- 
very sound  struck  his  ear.  He  started  to  his 
feet,  and  life  and  its  joys  rushed  back  upon  him. 
It  was  the  voice  of  the  woman  he  loved  so  mad- 
ly. 

Helen  Rolleston  was  on  the  water,  coming 
ashore  again  in  the  little  boat. 

He  crawled,  like  a  lizard,  among  the  boats 
ashore  to  catch  a  sight  of  her:  he  did  see  her, 
was  near  her,  unseen  himself.  She  landed  with 
her  father.  So  Wardlaw  was  gone  to  England 
without  her.  Seaton  trembled  with  joy.  Pres- 
ently his  goddess  began  to  lament  in  the  prettiest 


way.  "Papa!  papa!"  she  sighed,  "why  must 
friends  part  in  this  sad  world  ?  Poor  Arthur  is 
gone  from  me  ;  and,  by-and-by,  I  shall  go  from 
you,  my  own  papa."  And  at  that  prospect  she 
wept  gently. 

"  Why,  you  foolish  child!"  said  the  old  Gen- 
eral, tenderly,  "what  matters  a  little  parting, 
when  we  are  all  to  meet  again  in  dear  old  Eng- 
land ?  Well  then,  there,  have  a  cry ;  it  will  do 
you  good.  He  patted  her  head  tenderly,  as  she 
clung  to  his  warlike  breast ;  and  she  took  him  at 
his  word  ;  the  tears  ran  swiftly  and  glistened  in 
the  very  starlight. 

But  oh,  how  Seaton's  heart  yearned  at  all 
this ! 

What !  mustn't  he  say  a  word  to  comfort  her ; 
he  who,  at  that  moment,  would  have  thought  no 
more  of  dying  to  serve  her,  or  to  please  her,  than 
he  would  of  throwing  one  of  those  pebbles  into 
that  slimy  water? 

Well,  her  pure  tears  somehow  cooled  his  hot 
brain,  and  washed  his  soul,  and  left  him  wonder- 
ing at  himself  and  his  misdeeds  this  night.  His 
guardian  angel  seemed  to  go  by  and  wave  her 
dewy  wings,  and  fan  his  hot  passions  as  she  pass- 
ed. 

He  kneeled  down  and  thanked  God  he  had  not 
met  Arthur  Wardlaw  in  that  dark  lane. 

Then  he  went  home  to  his  humble  lodgings 
and  there  buried  himself ;  and  from  that  day  sel- 
dom went  out,  except  to  seek  employment.  He 
soon  obtained  it  as  a  copyist. 

Meantime  the  police  were  on  his  track,  em- 
ployed by  a  person  with  a  gentle  disposition,  but 
a  tenacity  of  purpose  truly  remarkable. 

Great  was  Seaton's  uneasiness  when  one  day 
he  saw  Hexham  at  the  foot  of  his  stair ;  greater 
still,  when  the  officer's  quick  eye  caught  sight  of 
him,  and  his  light  foot  ascended  the  stairs  direct- 
ly. He  felt  sure  Hexham  had  heard  of  his  lurk- 
ing about  General  Rolleston's  premises.  How- 
ever, .  he  prepared  to  defend  himself  to  the  utter- 
most. 

Hexham  came  into  his  room  without  cere- 
mony, and  looking  mighty  grim.  "Well,  my 
lad,  so  we  have  got  you,  after  all." 

"  What  is  my  crime  now?"  asked  Seaton,  sul- 
lenly. 

"James,"  said  the  officer,  very  solemnly,  "it 
is  an  unheard-of-crime  this  time.  You  have 
been — running — away — from  a  pretty  girl.  Now 
that  is  a  mistake  at  all  times ;  but,  when  she  is 
as  beautiful  as  an  angel,  and  rich  enough  to  slip 
a  fiver  into  Dick  Hexham's  hands,  and  lay  him 
on  your  track,  what  is  the  use  ?  Letter  for  you, 
my  man." 

Seaton  took  the  letter  with  a  puzzled  air.  It 
was  written  in  a  clear  but  feminine  hand,  and 
slightly  scented. 

The  writer  in  a  few  polished  lines  excused 
herself  for  taking  extraordinary  means  to  find 
Mr.  Seaton ;  but  hoped  he  would  consider  that 
he  had  laid  her  under  a  deep  obligation,  and 
that  gratitude  will  sometimes  be  importunate. 
She  had  the  pleasure  to  inform  him  that  the  of- 
fice of  shipping-clerk  at  Messrs.  White  and  Co.'s 
was  at  his  service,  and  she  hoped  he  would  take 
it  without  an  hour's  further  delay,  for  that  she 
was  assured  that  many  persons  had  risen  to 
wealth  and  consideration  in  the  colony  from 
such  situations. 

Then,  as  this  wary  but  courteous  young  lady 


FOUL  PLAY. 


17 


had  no  wish  to  enter  into  a  correspondence  with 
her  ex-gardener,  she  added : 

"Mr.  Seaton  need  not  trouble  himself  to  re- 
ply to  this  note.  A  simple  '  yes  '  to  Mr.  Hex- 
ham will  be  enough,  and  will  give  sincere  pleas- 
ure to  Mr.  Seaton's 

"Obedient  servant  and  well-wisher, 

"Helen  Anne  Rolleston.  " 

Seaton  bowed  his  head  over  this  letter  in 
silent  but  deep  emotion. 

Hexham  respected  that  emotion,  and  watched 
him  with  a  sort  of  vague  sympathy. 

Seaton  lifted  his  head,  and  the  tears  stood 
thick  in  his  eyes.  Said  he,  in  a  voice  of  exqui- 
site softness,  scarce  above  a  whisper,  "Tell  her, 
'yes' and  'God  bless  her.'  Good-bye.  I  want 
to  go  on  my  knees,  and  pray  God  to  bless  her, 
as  she  deserves.     Good-bye." 

Hexham  took  the  hint,  and  retired  softly. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

White  and  Co.  stumbled  on  a  treasure  in 
James  Seaton.  Your  colonial  clerk  is  not  so 
narrow  and  apathetic  as  your  London  clerk, 
whose  two  objects  seem  to  be,  to  learn  one  de- 
partment only,  and  not  to  do  too  much  in  that ; 
but  Seaton,  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  eclipsed 
even  colonial  clerks  in  this,  that  he  omitted  no 
opportunity  of  learning  the  whole  business  of 
White  and  Co.,  and  was  also  animated  by  a 
feverish  zeal  that  now  and  then  provoked  laugh- 
ter from  clerks,  but  was  agreeable,  as  well  as  sur- 
prising, to  White  and  Co.  Of  that  zeal,  his  in- 
curable passion  was  partly  the  cause.  Fortunes 
had  been  made  with  great  rapidity  in  Sydney ; 
and  Seaton  now  conceived  a  wild  hope  of  acquir- 
ing one,  by  some  lucky  hit,  before  Wardlaw 
could  return  to  Helen  Rolleston.  And  yet  his 
common  sense  said,  if  I  was  as  rich  as  Croesus, 
how  could  she  ever  mate  with  me,  a  stained  man. 
And  yet  his  burning  heart  said,  don't  listen  to 
reason ;  listen  only  to  me.     Try. 

And  so  he  worked  double  tides  ;  and,  in  vir- 
tue of  his  University  education,  had  no  snobbish 
notions  about  never  putting  his  hand  to  manual 
labor :  he  would  lay  down  his  pen  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  bear  a  hand  to  lift  a  chest  or  roll  a 
cask.  Old  White  saw  him  thus  multiply  him- 
self, and  was  so  pleased  that  he  raised  his  salary 
one-third. 

He  never  saw  Helen  Rolleston,  except  on 
Sunday.  On  that  day  he  went  to  her  church, 
and  sat  half  behind  a  pillar,  and  feasted  his  eyes 
and  his  heart  upon  her.  He  lived  sparingly, 
saved  money,  bought  a  strip  of  land  by  pay- 
ment of  £10  deposit,  and  sold  it  in  forty  hours 
for  £100  profit,  and  watched  keenly  for  similar 
opportunities  on  a  larger  scale  ;  and  all  for  her. 
Struggling  with  a  mountain:  hoping  against 
reason,  and  the  world. 

White  and  Co.  were  employed  to  ship  a  valu- 
able cargo  on  board  two  vessels  chartered  by 
Wardlaw  and  Son;  the  Shannon  and  Proser- 
pine. 

Both  these  ships  lay  in  Sydney  harbor,  nnd 
had  taken  in  the  bulk  of  their  cargoes;  but  the 


supplement  was  the  cream  ;  for  Wardlaw,  in  per- 
son, had  warehoused  eighteen  cases  of  gold-dust 
and  ingots,  and  fifty  of  lead  and  smelted  copper. 

They  were  all  examined,  and  branded  by  Mr. 
White,  who  had  duplicate  keys  of  the  gold  cases. 
But  the  contents,  as  a  matter  of  habit  and  pru- 
dence, were  not  described  outside,  but  were  mark- 
ed Proserpine  and  Shannon,  respectively ;  the 
mate  of  the  Proserpine,  who  was  in  Wardlaw's 
confidence,  had  written  instructions  to  look  care- 
fully to  the  stowage  of  all  these  cases,  and  was 
in  and  out  of  the  store  one  afternoon  just  before 
closing,  and  measured  the  cubic  contents  of  the 
cases,  with  a  view  to  stowage  in  the  respective 
vessels.  The  last  time  he  came  he  seemed  rath- 
er the  worse  for  liquor;  and  Seaton,  who  ac- 
companied him,  having  stepped  out  for  a  minute 
for  something  or  other,  was  rather  surprised  on 
his  return  to  find  the  door  closed,  and  it  struck 
him  Mr.  Wylie  (that  was  the  mate's  name)  might 
be  inside ;  the  more  so  as  the  door  closed  very 
easily  with  a  spring  bolt,  but  it  could  only  be 
opened  by  a  key  of  peculiar  construction.  Sea- 
ton took  out  his  key,  opened  the  door,  and  call- 
ed to  the  mate:  but  received  no  reply.  How- 
ever, he  took  the  precaution  to  go  round  the 
store,  and  see  whether  Wylie,  rendered  somno- 
lent by  liquor,  might  not  be  lying  oblivious 
among  the  cases ;  Wylie,  however,  was  not  to 
be  seen,  and  Seaton  finding  himself  alone  did 
an  unwise  thing ;  he  came  and  contemplated 
Wardlaw's  cases  of  metal  and  specie.  (Men  will 
go  too  near  the  thing  that  causes  their  pain.) 
He  eyed  them  with  grief  and  with  desire,  and 
could  not  restrain  a  sigh  at  these  material  proofs 
of  his  rival's  wealth :  the  wealth  that  probably 
had  smoothed  his  way  to  General  Rolleston's 
home,  and  to  his  daughter's  heart ;  for  wealth 
can  pave  the  way  to  hearts,  ay,  even  to  hearts 
that  can  not  be  downright  bought.  This  reverie, 
no  doubt,  lasted  longer  than  he  thought,  for 
presently  he  heard  the  loud  rattle  of  shutters  go- 
ing up  below :  it  was  closing  time ;  he  hastily 
closed  and  locked  the  iron  shutters,  and  then 
went  out  and  shut  the  door. 

He  had  been  gone  about  two  hours,  and  that 
part  of  the  street,  so  noisy  in  business  hours, 
was  hushed  in  silence,  all  but  an  occasional  foot- 
step on  the  flags  outside,  when  something  mys- 
terious occurred  in  the  warehouse,  now  as  dark 
as  pitch. 

At  an  angle  of  the  wall  stood  two  large  cases 
in  a  vertical  position,  with  smaller  cases  lying  at 
their  feet :  these  two  cases  were  about  eight  feet 
high,  more  or  less.  Well,  behind  these  cases 
suddenly  flashed  a  feeble  light,  and  the  next 
moment  two  brown  and  sinewy  hands  appeared 
on  the  edge  of  one  of  the  cases, — the  edge  next 
the  wall ;  the  case  vibrated  and  rocked  a  little, 
and  the  next  moment  there  mounted  on  the  top 
of  it  not  a  cat,  nor  a  monkey,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  but  an  animal  that  in  truth  re- 
sembles both  these  quadrupeds,  viz.,  a  sailor ; 
and  need  we  say  that  sailor  was  the  mate  of 
the  Proserpine  ?  He  descended  lightly  from  the 
top  of  the  case  behind  which  he  had  been  jam- 
med for  hours,  and  lighted  a  dark  lantern  ;  and 
went  softly  groping  about  the  store  with  it. 

This  was  a  mysterious  act,  and  would  perhaps 
have  puzzled  the  proprietors  of  the  store  even 
more  than  it  would  a  stranger :  for  a  stranger 
would  have  said  at  once  this  is  burglary,  or  else 


IS 


FOUL  PLAY. 


arson ;  but  those  acquainted  with  the  place 
would  have  known  that  neither  of  those  crimes 
was  very  practicable.  This  enterprising  sailor 
could  not  bum  down  this  particular  store  with- 
out roasting  himself  the  first  thing  ;  and  indeed 
he  could  not  burn  it  down  at  all ;  for  the  roof 
was  flat,  and  was  in  fact  one  gigantic  iron  tank, 
like  the  roof  of  Mr.  Goding's  brewery  in  Lon- 
don :  and,  by  a  neat  contrivance  of  American  or- 
igin, the  whole  tank  could  be  turned  in  one  mo- 
ment to  a  shower-bath,  and  drown  a  conflagra- 
tion in  thirty  seconds  or  thereabouts.  Nor  could 
he  rifle  the  place ;  the  goods  were  greatly  pro- 
tected by  their  weight,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
get  out  of  the  store  without  raising  an  alarm, 
and  being  searched. 

But,  not  to  fall  into  the  error  of  writers  who 
underrate  their  readers'  curiosity  and  intelli- 
gence, and  so  deluge  them  with  comments  and 
explanations,  we  will  now  simply  relate  what 
Wylie  did,  leaving  you  to  glean  his  motives  as 
this  tale  advances.  His  jacket  had  large  pockets, 
and  he  took  out  of  them  a  bunch  of  eighteen 
bright  steel  keys,  numbered,  a  set  of  new  screw- 
drivers, a  flask  of  rum,  and  two  ship  biscuits. 

He  unlocked  the  eighteen  cases  marked  Pros- 
erpine, etc,  and,  peering  in  with  his  lantren,  saw 
the  gold-dust  and  small  ingots  packed  in  parcels, 
and  surrounded  by  Australian  wool  of  the  high- 
est possible  quality.     It  was  a  luscious  sight. 

He  then  proceeded  to  a  heavier  task  ;  he  un- 
screwed, one  after  another,  eighteen  of  the  cases 
marked  Shannon,  and  the  eighteen  so  selected, 
perhaps  by  private  marks,  proved  to  be  packed 
close,  and  on  a  different  system  from  the  gold, 
viz.,  in  pigs,  or  square  blocks,  three,  or,  in  some, 
cases,  four  to  each  chest.  Now,  these  two  ways  of 
packing  the  specie,  and  the  baser  metal,  respect- 
ively, had  the  effect  of  producing  a  certain  uni- 
formity of  weight  in  the  thirty-six  cases  Wylie 
was  inspecting ;  otherwise  the  gold  cases  would 
have  been  twice  the  weight  of  those  that  con- 
tained the  baser  metal :  for  lead  is  proverbially 
heavy,  but  under  scientific  tests  is  to  gold  as  five 
to  twelve,  or  thereabouts. 

In  his  secret  and  mysterious  labor  Wylie  was 
often  interrupted.  Whenever  he  heard  a  step 
on  the  pavement  outside,  he  drew  the  slide  of 
his  lantern  and  hid  the  light.  If  he  had  exam- 
ined the  iron  shutters,  he  would  have  seen  that 
his  light  could  never  pierce  through  them  into 
the  street.  But  he  was  not  aware  of  this.  Not- 
withstanding these  occasional  interruptions,  he 
worked  so  hard  and  continuously,  that  the  per- 
spiration poured  down  him  ere  he  had  unscrew- 
ed those  eighteen  chests  containing  the  pigs  of 
lead.  However,  it  was  done  at  last,  and  then  he 
refreshed  himself  with  a  draught  from  his  flask. 
The  next  thing  was,  he  took  the  three  pigs  of 
lead  out  of  one  of  the  cases  marked  Shannon,  etc., 
and  numbered  fifteen,  and  laid  them  very  gently 
on  the  floor.  Then  he  transferred  to  that  empty 
case  the  mixed  contents  of  a  case  branded  Pros- 
erpine 1,  etc.,  and  this  he  did  with  the  utmost 
care  and  nicety,  lest  gold-dust  spilled  should  tell 
tales.  And  so  he  went  on  and  amused  himself 
by  shifting  the  contents  of  the  whole  eighteen 
cases  marked  Proserpine,  etc.,  into  eighteen  cases 
marked  Shannon,  etc.,  and  refilling  them  with 
the  Shannon's  lead.  Frolicsome  Mr.  Wylie ! 
Then  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the  cases  Proser- 
pined,  and  ate  a  biscuit  and  drank  a  little  rum  ; 


not  much  ;  for  at  this  part  of  his  career  he  was 
a  very  sober  man,  though  he  could  fain  drunk- 
enness, or  indeed  any  thing  else. 

The  gold  was  all  at  his  mercy,  yet  he  did  not 
pocket  an  ounce  of  it ;  not  even  a  pennyweight 
to  make  a  wedding-ring  for  Nancy  Eouse.  Mr. 
Wylie  had  a  conscience.  And  a  very  original 
one  it  was ;  and,  above  all,  he  was  very  true  to 
those  he  worked  with.  He  carefully  locked  the 
gold  cases  up  again,  and  resumed  the  screw- 
driver, for  there  was  another  heavy  stroke  of  i 
work  to  be  done  ;  and  he  went  at  it  like  a  man. 
He  carefully  screwed  down  again,  one  after 
another,  all  those  eighteen  cases  marked  Shan- 
non, which  he  had  filled  with  gold  dust,  and  then, 
heating  a  sailor's  needle  red-hot  over  his  burn- 
ing wick,  he  put  his  own  secret  marks  on  those 
eighteen  cases — marks  that  no  eye  but  his  own 
could  detect.  By  this  time,  though  a  very 
powerful  man,  he  felt  much  exhausted,  and 
would  gladly  have  snatched  an  hour's  repose. 
But,  consulting  his  watch  by  the  light  of  his 
lantern,  he  found  the  sun  had  just  risen.  He 
retired  to  his  place  of  concealment  in  the  same 
cat-like  way  he  had  come  out  of  it — that  is  to 
say,  he  mounted  on  the  high  cases,  and  then  slip- 
ped down  behind  them,  into  the  angle  of  the  wall. 

As  soon  as  the  office  opened,  two  sailors, 
whom  he  had  carefully  instructed  over  night, 
came  with  a  boat  for  the  cases;  the  warehouse 
was  opened  in  consequence,  but  they  were  in- 
formed that  Wylie  must  be  present  at  the  delivery. 

"Oh,  he  won't  be  long,"  said  they  ;  "  told  us 
he  would  meet  us  here." 

There  was  a  considerable  delay,  and  a  good 
deal  of  talking,  and  presently  Wylie  was  at 
their  backs,  and  put  in  his  word. 

Seaton  was  greatly  surprised  at  finding  him 
there,  and  asked  him  where  he  had  sprung  from. 

"  Me  !"  said  Wylie,  jocosely,  "  why,  I  hailed 
from  Davy  Jones's  locker  last. 

"I  never  heard  you  come  in,"  said  Seaton 
thoughtfully. 

"Well,  sir,"  replied  Wylie  civilly,  "a  man 
does  learn  to  go  like  a  cat  on  board  ship,  that  is 
the  truth.  I  came  in  at  the  door  like  my  betters  ; 
but  I  thought  I  heard  you  mention  my  name,  so 
I  made  no  noise.  Well,  here  I  am  anyway, 
and — Jack,  how  many  trips  can  we  take  these 
thundering  chests  in  ?  Let  us  see,  eighteen  for 
the  Proserpine,  and  forty  for  the  Shannon.  Is 
that  correct,  sir  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"Then,  if  you  will  deliver  them,  I'll  check 
the  delivery  aboard  the  lighter  there  ;  and  then 
we'll  tow  her  alongside  the  ships." 

Seaton  called  up  two  more  clerks,  and  sent 
one  to  the  boat,  and  one  on  board  the  barge. 
The  barge  was  within  hail;  so  the  cases  were 
checked  as  they  passed  out  of  the  store,  and 
checked  again  at  the  small  boat,  and  also  on 
board  the  lighter.  When  they  were  all  cleared 
out,  Wylie  gave  Seaton  his  receipt  for  them,  and, 
having  a  steam-tug  in  attendance,  towed  the 
lighter  alongside  the  Shannon  first. 

Seaton  carried  the  receipt  to  his  employer. 

"But,  sir,"  said  he,  "is  this  regular  for  an 
officer  of  the  Proserpine  to  take  the  Shannon's 
cargo  from  us?" 

"No,  it  is  not  regular,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man ;  and  he  looked  through  a  window  and  sum- 
moned Mr.  Hardcastle. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


19 


Hardcastle  explained  that  the  Proserpine 
shipped  the  gold,  which  was  the  more  valuable 
consignment;  and  that  he  saw  no  harm  in  the 
officer  who  was  so  highly  trusted  by  the  mer- 
chant (on  this  and  on  former  occasions)  taking 
out  a  few  tons  of  lead  and  copper  to  the  Shan- 
non. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Seaton,  "suppose  I  was  to 
go  out  and  see  the  chests  stowed  in  those  ves- 
sels." 

"I  think  you  are  making  a  fuss  about  noth- 
ing," said  Hardcastle. 

Mr.  White  was  of  the  same  opinion,  but,  being 
too  wise  to  check  zeal  and  caution,  told  Seaton 
he  might  go  for  his  own  satisfaction. 

Seaton,  with  some  difficulty,  got  a  little  boat 
and  pulled  across  the  harbor.  He  found  the 
Shannon  had  shipped  all  the  chests  marked 
with  her  name ;  and  the  captain  and  mate  of 
the  Proserpine  were  beginning  to  ship  theirs. 
He  paddled  under  the  Proserpine's  stern. 

Captain  Hudson,  a  rough  salt,  sang  out,  and 
asked  him  roughly  what  he  wanted  there. 

"  Oh,  it  is  all  right,"  said  the  mate  ;  "  he  is 
come  for  your  receipt  and  Hewitt's.  Be  smart 
now,  men  ;  two  on  board,  sixteen  to  come." 

Seaton  saw  the  chests  marked  Proserpine 
stowed  in  the  Proserpine,  and  went  ashore  with 
Captain  Hewitt's  receipt  of  forty  cases  on  board 
the  Shannon,  and  Captain  Hudson's  of  eighteen 
on  board  the  Proserpine. 

As  he  landed  he  met  Lloyd's  agent,  and  told 
him  what  a  valuable  freight  he  had  just  shipped. 
That  gentleman  merely  remarked  that  both  ships 
were  underwritten  in  Sydney  by  the  owners  ;  but 
the  freight  was  insured  in  London  no  doubt. 

There  was  still  something  about  this  business 
Seaton  did  not  quite  like  ;  perhaps  it  was  in  the 
haste  of  the  shipments,  or  in  the  manner  of  the 
mate.  At  all  events,  it  was  too  slight  and  sub- 
tle to  be  communicated  to  others,  with  any 
hope  of  convincing  them ;  and,  moreover,  Sea- 
ton could  not  but  own  to  himself  that  he  hated 
Wardlaw,  and  was,  perhaps,  no  fair  judge  of  his 
acts,  and  even  of  the  acts  of  his  servants. 

And  soon  a  blow  fell  that  drove  the  matter 
out  of  his  head  and  heart.  Miss  Helen  Rolles- 
ton called  at  the  office,  and,  standing  within  a 
few  feet  of  him,  handed  Hardcastle  a  letter  from 
Arthur  Wardlaw,  directing  that  the  ladies'  cabin 
on  board  the  Shannon  should  be  placed  at  her 
disposal. 

Hardcastle  bowed  low  to  Beauty  and  Station, 
and  promised  her  the  best  possible  accommoda- 
tion on  board  the  Shannon,  bound  for  England 
next  week. 

As  she  retired,  she  cast  one  quiet  glance  round 
the  office  in  search  of  Seaton's  beard.  But  he 
had  reduced  its  admired  luxuriance,  and  trim- 
med it  to  a  narrow  mercantile  point.  She  did 
not  know  his  other  features  from  Adam,  and  lit- 
tie  thought  that  young  man,  bent  double  over  his 
paper,  was  her  preserver  and  protege ;  still  less 
that  he  was  at  this  moment  cold  as  ice,  and  quiv- 
ering with  misery  from  head  to  foot,  because 
her  own  lips  had  just  told  him  she  was  going  to 
England  in  the  Shannon. 

Heart-broken,  but  still  loving  nobly,  Seaton 
dragged  himself  down  to  the  harbor,  and  went 
slowly  on  board  the  Shannon  to  secure  Miss  Rol- 
leston every  comfort. 


Then,  sick  at  heart  as  he  was,  he  made  inqui- 
ries into  the  condition  of  the  vessel  which  was  to 
be  trusted  with  so  precious  a  freight ;  and  the 
old  boatman  who  was  rowing  him,  hearing  him 
make  these  inquiries,  told  him  he  himself  was 
always  about,  and  had  noticed  the  Shannon's 
pumps  were  going  every  blessed  night. 

Seaton  carried  this  intelligence  directly  to 
Lloyd's  agent ;  he  overhauled  the  ship,  and  or- 
dered her  into  the  graving  dock  for  repairs. 

Then  Seaton,  for  White  and  Co.,  wrote  to 
Miss  Rolleston  that  the  Shannon  was  not  sea- 
worthy, and  could  not  sail  for  a  month  at  the 
least. 

The  lady  simply  acknowledged  Messrs.  White's 
communication,  and  Seaton  breathed  again. 

Wardlaw  had  made  Miss  Rolleston  promise 
him  faithfully  to  sail  that  month  in  his  ship  the 
Shannon.  Now,  she  was  a  slave  to  her  word, 
and  constant  of  purpose  ;  so  when  she  found  she 
could  not  sail  in  the  Shannon,  she  called  again 
on  Messrs.  White,  and  took  her  passage  in  the 
Proserpine.  The  essential  thing  to  her  mind 
was  to  sail  when  she  had  promised,  and  to  go  in 
a  ship  that  belonged  to  her  lover. 

The  Proserpine  was  to  sail  in  ten  days. 

Seaton  inquired  into  the  state  of  the  Proser- 
pine. She  was  a  good,  sound  vessel,  and  there 
was  no  excuse  for  detaining  her. 

Then  he  wrestled  long  and  hard  with  the  self- 
ish part  of  his  great  love.  Instead  of  turning 
sullen,  he  set  himself  to  carrying  out  Helen  Rol- 
leston's  will.  He  went  on  board  the  Proserpine 
and  chose  her  the  best  stern-cabin. 

General  Rolleston  had  ordered  Helen's  cabin 
to  be  furnished,  and  the  agent  had  put  in  the 
usual  things,  such  as  a  standing  bedstead  with 
drawers  beneath,  chest  of  drawers,  small  table, 
two  chairs,  wash-stand,  looking-glass,  and  swing- 
ing lamp. 

But  Seaton  made  several  visits  to  the  ship,  and 
effected  the  following  arrangements  at  his  own 
cost.  He  provided  a  neat  cocoa  mat  for  her  cab- 
in deck,  for  comfort  and  foothold :  he  unshipped 
the  regular  six-paned  stern  windows,  and  put  in 
single-pane  plate  glass  ;  he  fitted  Venetian  blinds, 
and  hung  two  little  rose-colored  curtains  to  each 
of  the  windows  ;  all  so  arranged  as  to  be  easily 
removed  in  case  it  should  be  necessary  to  ship 
dead-lights  in  heavy  weather.  He  glazed  the 
door  leading  to  her  bath-room  and  quarter-gal- 
lery with  plate  glass ;  he  provided  a  light  easy- 
chair,  slung  and  fitted  with  grommets,  to  be 
hung  on  hooks  screwed  into  the  beams  in  the  mid- 
ship of  the  cabin.  On  this  Helen  could  sit  and 
read,  and  so  become  insensible  to  the  motion  of 
the  ship.  He  fitted  a  small  bookcase  with  a 
button,  which  could  be  raised  when  a  book  might 
be  wanted ;  he  fixed  a  strike-bell  in  her  maid's 
cabin,  communicating  with  two  strikers  in  Hel- 
en's cabin ;  he  selected  books,  taking  care  that 
the  voyages  and  travels  were  prosperous  ones. 
No  "  Seaman's  Recorder,"  "Life-boat  Journal," 
or  "  Shipwrecks  and  Disasters  in  the  British 
Navy." 

Her  cabin  was  the  after-cabin  on  the  starboard 
side,  was  entered  through  the  cuddy,  had  a  door 
communicating  with  the  quarter-gallery,  two 
stern  windows,  and  a  dead-eye  on  deck.  The 
maid's  cabin  was  the  port  after-cabin;  doors 
opened  into  cuddy  and  quarter-gallery.  And  a 
fine  trouble  Miss  Rolleston  had  to  get  a  maid  to 


20 


EOUL  PLAY. 


accompany  her  ;  but  at  last  a  young  woman  of- 
fered to  go  with  her  for  high  wages,  demurely 
suppressing  the  fact  that  she  had  just  married 
one  of  the  sailors,  and  would  gladly  have  gone 
for  nothing.  Her  name  was  Jane  Holt,  and  her 
husband's  Michael  Donovan. 

In  one  of  Seaton's  visits  to  the  Proserpine  he 
detected  the  mate  and  captain  talking  together, 
and  looking  at  him  with  unfriendly  eyes, — scowl- 
ing at  him  would  hardly  be  too  strong  a  word. 

However,  he  was  in  no  state  of  mind  to  care 
much  how  two  animals  in  blue  jackets  received 
his  acts  of  self-martyrdom.  He  was  there  to  do 
the  last  kind  offices  of  despairing  love  for  the 
angel  that  had  crossed  his  dark  path,  and  illu- 
mined it  for  a  moment,  to  leave  it  now  forever. 

At  last  the  fatal  evening  came ;  her  last  in 
Sydney. 

Then  Seaton's  fortitude,  sustained  no  longer 
by  the  feverish  stimulus  of  doing  kindly  acts  for 
her,  began  to  give  way,  and  he  desponded  deeply. 

At  nine  in  the  evening  he  crept  upon  General 
Rolleston's  lawn,  where  he  had  first  seen  her. 
He  sat  down  in  sullen  despair,  upon  the  very 
spot. 

Then  he  came  nearer  the  house.  There  was 
a  lamp  in  the  dining-room ;  he  looked  in  and 
saw  her. 

She  was  seated  at  her  father's  knee,  looking  up 
at  him  fondly ;  her  hand  was  in  his  ;  the  tears 
wefe  in  their  eyes ;  she  had  no  mother ;  he  no 
son  ;  they  loved  one  another  devotedly.  This, 
their  tender  gesture,  and  their  sad  silence,  spoke 
volumes  to  any  one  that  had  known  sorrow. 
Poor  Seaton  sat  down  on  the  dewy  grass  outside, 
and  wept  because  she  was  weeping. 

Her  father  sent  her  to  bed  early.  Seaton 
watched,  as  he  had  often  done  before,  till  her 
light  went  out ;  and  then  he  flung  himself  on  the 
wet  grass,  and  stai*ed  at  the  sky  in  utter  misery. 

The  mind  is  often  clearest  in  the  middle  of 
the  night ;  and  all  of  a  sudden,  he  saw,  as  if 
written  on  the  sky,  that  she  was  going  to  Eng- 
land expressly  to  marry  Arthur  Ward  law. 

At  this  revelation  he  started  up,  stung  with 
hate  as  well  as  love,  and  his  tortured  mind  re- 
belled furiously.  He  repeated  his  vow  that  this 
should  never  be ;  and  soon  a  scheme  came  into 
his  head  to  prevent  it ;  but  it  was  a  project  so 
wild  and  dangerous,  that,  even  as  his  heated 
brain  hatched  it,  his  cooler  judgment  said,  "Fly, 
madman,  fly  !  or  this  love  will  destroy  you  !" 

He  listened  to  the  voice  of  reason,  and  in 
another  minute  he  was  out  of  the  premises.  He 
fluttered  to  his  lodgings. 

When  he  got  there  he  could  not  go  in ;  he 
turned  and  fluttered  about  the  streets,  not  know- 
ing or  caring  whither ;  his  mind  was  in  a  whirl ; 
and,  what  with  his  bodily  fever  and  his  boiling 
heart,  passion  began  to  overpower  reason,  that 
had  held  out  so  gallantly  till  now.  He  found 
himself  at  the  harbor,  staring  with  wild  and 
bloodshot  eyes  at  the  Proserpine,  he  who,  an  hour 
ago,  had  seen  that  he  had  but  one  thing  to  do, 
— to  try  and  forget  young  Wardlaw's  bride.  He 
groaned  aloud,  and  ran  wildly  back  into  the  town. 
He  hurried  up  and  down  one  narrow  street,  rag- 
ing inwardly,  like  some  wild  beast  in  its  den. 

By-and-by  his  mood  changed,  and  he  hung 
round  a  lamp-post,  and  fell  to  moaning  and  la- 
menting his  hard  fate,  and  hers. 


A  policeman  came  up,  took  him  for  a  maudlin 
drunkard,  and  half  advised,  half  admonished, 
him  to  go  home. 

At  that  he  gave  a  sort  of  fierce,  despairing 
snarl,  and  ran  into  the  next  street,  to  be  alone. 

Tn  this  street  he  found  a  shop  open,  and  light- 
ed, though  it  was  but  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
It,  was  a  barber's,  whose  customers  were  work- 
ing-people.    Hair  -  cutting,  sixpence.     East 

SHAVING,  THREEPENCE.  HOT  COFFEE,  FOUR- 
PENCE  the  cup.  Seaton's  eye  fell  upon  this 
shop.  He  looked  at  it  fixedly  a  moment  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  and  then  hurried 
on. 

He  turned  suddenly  and  came  back.  He 
crossed  the  road  and  entered  the  shop.  The 
barber  was  leaning  over  the  stove,  removing  a 
can  of  boiling  water  from  the  fire  to  the  hob. 
He  turned  at  the  sound  of  Seaton's  step,  and 
revealed  an  ugly  countenance,  rendered  sinister 
by  a  squint. 

Seaton  dropped  into  a  chair,  and  said,  "  I  want 
my  beard  taken  off." 

The  man  looked  at  him,  if  it  could  be  called 
looking  at  him,  and  said,  dryly,  "Oh,  do  ye? 
How  much  am  I  to  have  for  that  job  ?" 

"You  know  your  own  charge." 

"  Of  course  I  do  :  threepence  a  chin." 

"  Very  well.     Be  quick  then." 

"  Stop  a  bit :  that  is  my  charge  to  working- 
folk.     I  must  have  something  more  off  you." 

"  Very  well,  man,  I'll  pay  you  double." 

"My  price  to  you  is  ten  shillings." 

"Why,  what  is  that  for?"  asked  Seaton,  in 
some  alarm  ;  he  thought,  in  his  confusion,  the 
man  must  have  read  his  heart. 

"  I'll  tell  ye  why,"  said  the  squinting  barber. 
"  No,  I  won't :  I'll  show  ye."  He  brought  a 
small  mirror,  and  suddenly  clapped  it  before  Sea- 
ton's eyes.  Seaton  started  at  his  own  image; 
wild,  ghastly,  and  the  eyes  so  bloodshot.  The 
barber  chuckled.  This  start  was  an  extorted 
compliment  to  his  own  sagacity.  "Now  wasn't 
I  right  ?"  said  he ;  ' '  did  I  ought  to  take  the 
bead  off  such  a  mug  as  that — for  less  than  ten 
shillings?" 

"  I  see,"  groaned  Seaton  ;  "you  think  I  have 
committed  some  crime.  One  man  sees  me  weep- 
ing with  misery  ;  he  calls  me  a  drunkard  ;  an- 
other sees  me  pale  with  the  anguish  of  my  break- 
ing heart ;  he  calls  me  a  felon  :  may  God's  curse 
light  on  him  and  you,  and  all  mankind !" 

"All  right,  "said  the  squinting  barber,  apathet- 
ically ;  "my  price  is  ten  bob,  whether  or  no." 

Seaton  felt  in  his  pockets.  "  I  have  not  got 
the  money  about  me,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  I'm  not  particular ;  leave  your  watch." 

Seaton  handed  the  squinting  vampire  his  watch 
without  another  word,  and  let  his  head  fall  upon 
his  breast. 

The  barber  cut  his  beard  close  with  the  scis- 
sors, and  made  trivial  remarks  from  time  to  time, 
but  received  no  reply. 

At  last,  Extortion  having  put  him  in  a  good- 
humor,  he  said,  "Don't  be  so  down-hearted,  my 
lad.  You  are  not  the  first  that  has  got  into 
trouble,  and  had  to  change  faces." 

Seaton  vouchsafed  no  reply. 

The  barber  shaved  him  clean,  and  was  as- 
tonished at  the  change,  and  congratulated  him. 
"Nobody  will  ever  know  you,"  said  he  ;  "  and 
I'll  tell  you  why ;  your  mouth,  it  is  inclined  to 


FOUL  PLAY. 


21 


turn  up  a  little ;  now  a  mustache  it  bends  down, 
and  that  alters  such  a  mouth  as  yours  entirely. 
But,  I'll  tell  you  what,  taking  off  this  beard  shows 
me  something :  you  are  a  gentleman  it  Make  it 
a  sovereign,  sir." 

Seaton  staggered  out  of  the  place  without  a 
word. 

"  Sulky,  eh  ?"  muttered  the  barber.  He  gath- 
ered up  some  of  the  long  hair  he  had  cutoff  Sea- 
ton's  chin  with  his  scissors,  admired  it,  and  put 
it  away  in  paper. 

While  thus  employed,  a  regular  customer 
looked  in  for  his  cup  of  coffee.  It  was  the  police- 
man who  had  taken  Seaton  for  a  convivial  soul. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

General  Rolleston's  servants  made  several 
trips  to  the  Proserpine,  carrying  boxes,  etc. 

But  Helen  herself  clung  to  the  house  till  the 
last  moment.  "  Oh,  papa !"  she  cried,  "  I  need 
all  my  resolution,  all  my  good  faith,  to  keep  my 
word  with  Arthur,  and  leave  you.  Why,  why 
did  I  promise  ?  Why  am  I  such  a  slave"  to  my 
word  ?" 

"  Because,"  said  the  old  General,  with  a  voice 
not  so  firm  as  usual,  "I  have  always  told  you 
that  a  lady  is  not  to  be  inferior  to  a  gentleman 
in  any  virtue  except  courage.  I've  heard  my 
mother  say  so  often ;  and  I've  taught  it  to  my 
Helen.  And,  my  girl,  where  would  be  the 
merit  of  keeping  our  word,  if  we  only  kept  it 
when  it  cost  us  nothing  ?" 

He  promised  to  come  after,  in  three  months 
at  farthest,  and  the  brave  girl  di'ied  her  tears  as 
well  as  she  could,  not  to  add  to  the  sadness  he 
fought  against  as  gallantly  as  he  had  often 
fought  the  enemies  of  his  country. 

"The  Proserpine  was  to  sail  at  two  o'clock  :  at 
a  little  before  one,  a  gentleman  boarded  her, 
and  informed  the  captain  that  he  was  a  mission- 
ary, the  Rev.  John  Hazel,  returning  home,  after 
a  fever:  and  wished  to  take  a  berth  in  the  Pros- 
erpine. 

The  mate  looked  him  full  in  the  face ;  and 
then  told  him  there  was  very  little  accommoda- 
tion for  passengers,  and  it  had  all  been  secured 
by  White  and  Co.  for  a  young  lady  and  her 
servants. 

Mr.  Hazel  replied  that  his  means  Were  small, 
and  moderate  accommodation  would  serve  him  ; 
but  he  must  go  to  England  without  delay. 

Captain  Hudson  put  in  his  gracious  word : 
"  Then  jump  off  the  jetty  at  high  tide  and  swim 
there;  no  room  for  black  coats  in  my  ship." 

Mr.  Hazel  looked  from  one  to  the  other  pite- 
ously.  "Show  me  some  mercy,  gentlemen; 
my  rery  life  depends  on  it." 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,''  said  the  mate  ;  "but  it  is 
impossible.  There's  the  Shannon,  you  can  go 
in  her." 

"But  she  is  under  repairs,  so  I  am  told." 

"  Well,  there  are  a  hundred  and  fifty  carpen- 
ters on  to  her ;  and  she  will  come  out  of  port  in 
our  wake." 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Hudson,  roughly,  "bundle 
down  the  ship's  side  again  if  you  please ;  this  is 
a  busy  time.  Hy! — rig  the  whip;  here's  the 
lady  coming  off  to  us.'' 

The  missionary  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  went 


down  into  the  boat  that  had  brought  him.  But 
he  was  no  sooner  seated  than  he  ordered  the 
boatmen,  somewhat  peremptorily,  to  pull  ashore 
as  fast  as  they  could  row. 

His  boat  met  the  Rollestons,  father  and 
daughter,  coming  out,  and  he  turned  his  pale 
face  and  eyed  them  as  he  passed.  Helen  Rol- 
leston  was  struck  with  that  sorrowful  counte- 
nance, and  whispered  her  father,  "  That  poor 
clergyman  has  just  left  the  ship."  She  made 
sure  he  had  been  taking  leave  of  some  beloved 
one,  bound  for  England.  General  Rolleston 
looked  round,  but  the  boats  had  passed  each 
other,  and  the  wan  face  was  no  longer  visible. 

They  were  soon  on  board,  and  received  with 
much  obsequiousness.  Helen  was  shown  her 
cabin,  and,  observing  the  minute  and  zealous 
care  that  had  been  taken  of  her  comfort,  she 
said,  "  Somebody  who  loves  me  has  been  here," 
and  turned  her  brimming  eyes  on  her  father. 
He  looked  quite  puzzled ;  but  said  nothing. 

Father  and  daughter  were  then  left  alone  in 
the  cabin,  till  the  ship  began  to  heave  up  her  an- 
chor (she  lay  just  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor), 
and  then  the  boatswain  was  sent  to  give  Gener- 
al Rolleston  warning.  Helen  came  up  with 
him,  pale  and  distressed.  They  exchanged  a 
last  embrace,  and  General  Rolleston  went  down 
the  ship's  side.  Helen  hung  over  the  bulwarks 
and  waved  her  last  adieu,  though  she  could 
hardly  see  him  for  her  tears. 

At  this  moment  a  four-oared  boat  swept  along- 
side ;  and  Mr.  Hazel  came  on  board  again.  He 
pi-esented  Hudson  a  written  order  to  give  the 
Rev.  John  Hazel  a  passage  in  the  small  berth 
abreast  the  main  hatches.  It  was  signed  "  For 
White  and  Co.,  James  Seaton;"  and  was  in- 
dorsed with  a  stamped  acknowledgment  of  the 
passage-money,  twenty-seven  pounds. 

Hudson  and  Wylie,  the  mate,  put  their  heads 
together  over  this.  The  missionary  saw  them 
consulting,  and  told  them  he  had  mentioned 
their  mysterious  conduct  to  Messrs.  White  and 
Co.,  and  that  Mr.  Seaton  had  promised  to  stop 
the  ship  if  their  authority  was  resisted.  "  And 
I  have  paid  my  passage-money,  and  will  not  be 
turned  out  now  except  by  force,"  said  the  rever- 
end gentleman,  quietly. 

Wylie's  head  was  turned  away  from  Mr.  Ha- 
zel's, and  on  its  profile  a  most  gloomy,  vindic- 
tive look,  so  much  so  that  Mr.  Hazel  was  star- 
tled when  the  man  turned  his  front  face  to  him 
with  a  jolly,  genial  air,  and  said,  "Well,  sir, 
the  truth  is,  we  seamen  don't  want  passengers 
aboard  ships  of  this  class  ;  they  get  in  our  way 
whenever  it  blows  a  capful.  However,  since  you 
are  here,  make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  you 
can." 

"There,  that  is  enough  palaver,"  said  the  cap- 
tain, in  his  offensive  way.  "Hoist  the  parson's 
traps  aboard ;  and  sheer  off,  you.  Anchor's 
apeak." 

He  then  gave  his  orders  in  stentorian  roars ; 
the  anchor  was  hove  up,  catted  and  fished  ;  one 
sail  went  up  after  another,  the  Proserpine's  head 
came  round,  and  away  she  bore  for  England 
with  a  fair  wind. 

General  Rolleston  went  slowly  and  heavily 
home,  and  often  turned  his  head  and  looked 
wistfully  at  the  ship  putting  out  wing  upon  wing, 
and  carrying  off  his  child  like  a  tiny  prey. 


22 


FOUL  PLAY. 


To  change  the  comparison,  it  was  only  a  ten- 
der vine  detached  from  a  great  sturdy  elm :  yet 
the  tree,  thus  relieved  of  its  delicate  encum- 
brance, felt  bare ;  and  a  soft  thing  was  gone, 
that,  seeking  protection,  had  bestowed  warmth  ; 
had  nestled  and  curled  between  the  world's  cold 
wind  and  that  stalwart  stem. 

As  soon  as  he  got  home  he  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  set  to  work  to  console  himself  by  reflecting 
that  it  was  but  a  temporary  parting,  since  he 
had  virtually  resigned  his  post,  and  was  only 
waiting  in  Sydney  till  he  should  have  handed 
his  papers  in  order  over  to  his  successor,  and  set- 
tled one  or  two  private  matters  that  could  not 
take  three  months. 

When  he  had  smoked  his  cigar,  and  reasoned 
away  his  sense  of  desolation,  Nature  put  out  her 
hand,  and  took  him  by  the  breast,  and  drew  him 
gently  op-stairs  to  take  a  look  at  his  beloved 
daughter's  bedroom,  by  way  of  seeing  the  last 
of  her. 

The  room  had  one  window  looking  south,  and 
another  west ;  the  latter  commanded  a  view  of 
the  sea.  General  Rolleston  looked  down  at  the 
floor,  littered  with  odds  and  ends, — the  dead 
leaves  of  dress  that  fall  about  a  lady  in  the  great 
process  of  packing, — and  then  gazed  through 
the  window  at  the  flying  Proserpine. 

He  sighed,  and  lighted  another  cigar.  Before 
he  had  half  finished  it,  he  stooped  down  and 
took  up  a  little  bow  of  ribbon  that  lay  on  the 
ground,  and  put  it  quietly  in  his  bosom.  In 
this  act  he  was  surprised  by  Sarah  Wilson,  who 
had  come  up  to  sweep  all  such  waifs  and  strays 
into  her  own  box. 

"La,  sir,"  said  she,  rather  crossly,  "why 
didn't  you  tell  me,  and  I'd  have  tidied  the  room: 
it  is  all  huggevmugger,  with  Miss  a  leaving." 

And  with  this  she  went  to  the  washing-stand 
to  begin.  General  Rolleston's  eye  followed  her 
movements,  and  he  observed  the  water  in  one 
of  the  basins  was  rather  red.  "What!"  said 
he,  "  has  she  had  an  accident ;  cut  her  finger  ?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  Wilson. 

"  Her  nose  been  bleeding,  then  ?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Not  from  her  finger, — nor  —  ?  Let  me 
look." 

He  examined  the  basin  narrowly,  and  his 
countenance  fell.  "Good  heavens !"  said  he: 
"I  wish  I  had  seen  this  before  ;  she  should  not 
have  gone  to-day.  Was  it  the  agitation  of  part- 
ing ?" 

"Oh  no,"  said  Wilson;  "don't  go  to  fancy 
that.     Why,  it  is  not  the  first  time  by  a  many." 

"Not  the  first!"  faltered  Rolleston.  "In 
Heaven's  name  why  was  I  never  told  of  this?" 

"Indeed,  sir,"  said  Wilson,  eagerly,  "you 
must  not  blame  me,  sir.  It  was  as  much  as  my 
place  was  worth  to  tell  you,  Miss  is  a  young 
lady  that  will  be  obeyed  ;  and  she  give  me  strict 
orders  not  to  let  you  know:  but  she  is  gone 
now  :  and  I  always  thought  it  was  a  pity  she 
kept  it  so  dark ;  but,  as  I  was  saying,  sir,  she 
would  be  obeyed." 

"  Kept  what  so  dark  ?" 

"Why,  sir,  her  spitting  of  blood  at  times :  and 
turning  so  thin  by  what  she  used  to  be,  poor  dear 
young  lady." 

General  Rolleston  groaned  aloud.  "  And  this 
she  hid  from  me;  from  me?"  He  said  no 
more,  but  kept  looking  bewildered  and  helpless, 


first  at  the  basin,  discolored-  by  his  daughter's 
blood,  and  then  at  the  Proserpine,  that  was  car- 
rying her  away,  perhaps  forever ;  and,  at  the 
double  sight,  his  iron  features  worked  with  cruel 
distress ;  anguish  so  mute  and  male,  that  the 
woman  Wilson,  though  not  good  for  much,  sat 
down  and  shed  genuine' tears  of  pity. 

But  he  summoned  all  his  fortitude,  told  Wil- 
son he  could  not  say  she  was  to  blame,  she  had 
but  obeyed  her  mistress's  orders ;  and  we  must 
all  obey  orders.  "  But  now,"  said  he,  "  it  is  me 
you  ought  to  obey:  tell  me, 'does  any  doctor  au 
tend  her?" 

"None  ever  comes  here,  sir.  But  one  day 
she  let  fall  that  she  went  to  Dr.  Valentine,  him 
that  has  the  name  for  disorders  of  the  chest." 

In  a  very  few  minutes  General  Rolleston  was 
at  Dr.  Valentine's  house,  and  asked  him  bluntly 
what  was  the  matter  with  his  daughter. 

"Disease  of  the  lungs,"  said  the  doctor,  sim- 

p]y- 

^  The  unhappy  father  then  begged  the  doctor  to 
give  him  his  real  opinion  as  to  the  degree  of 
danger;  and  Dr.  Valentine  told  him,  with  some 
feeling,  that  the  case  was  not  desperate,  but  was 
certainly  alarming. 

Remonstrated  with  for  letting  the  girl  under- 
take a  sea  voyage,  he  replied  rather  evasively  at 
first ;  that  the  air  of  Sydney  disagreed  with  his 
patient,  and  a  sea  voyage  was  more  likely  to  do 
her  good  than  harm,  provided  the  weather  was 
not  downright  tempestuous. 

"  And  who  is  to  insure  me  against  that  ?"  ask- 
ed the  afflicted  father. 

"Why,  it  is  a  good  time  of  year,'"  said  Dr. 
Valentine;  "and  delay  might  have  been  fatal." 
Then,  after  a  slight  hesitation,  "  The  fact  is,  sir," 
said  he,  "I  gathered  from  her  servant  that  a  hus- 
band awaits  Miss  Rolleston  in  England ;  and  I 
must  tell  you,  what  of  course  I  did  not  tell  her, 
that  the  sooner  she  enters  the  married  state  the 
better.  In  fact,  it  is  her  one  chance,  in  my  opin- 
ion." 

General  Rolleston  pressed  the  doctor's  hand, 
and  went  away  without  another  word. 

Only  he  hurried  his  matters  of  business ;  and 
took  his  passage  in  the  Shannon. 

It  was  in  something  of  a  warrior's  spirit  that 
he  prepared  to  follow  his  daughter  and  protect 
her ;  but  often  he  sighed  at  the  invisible,  insidi- 
ous nature  of  the  foe,  and  wished  it  could  have 
been  a  fair  fight  of  bullets  and  bayonets,  and  his 
own  the  life  at  stake. 

The  Shannon  was  soon  ready  for  sea. 

But  the  gentleman  who  was  to  take  General 
Rolleston's  post  met  with  something  better,  and 
declined  it. 

General  Rolleston,  though  chafing  with  impa- 
tience, had  to  give  up  going  home  in  the  Shannon. 
But  an  influential  friend,  Mr.  Adolphus  Savage, 
was  informed  of  his  difficulty,  and  obtained  a 
year's  leave  of  absence  for  him,  and  permis- 
sion to  put  young  Savage  in  as  his  locum  tenens ; 
which,  by-the-by,  is  how  politic  men  in  general 
serve  their  friends. 

The  Shannon  sailed,  but  not  until  an  incident 
had  occurred  that  must  not  be  entirely  passed 
over.  Old  Mr.  White  called  on  General  Rolles- 
ton with  a  long  face,  and  told  him  James  Seaton 
had  disappeared. 

"  Stolen  any  thing?" 

"Not  a  shilling.     Indeed  the  last  thing  the 


FOUL  PLAY. 


2i) 


poor  fellow  did  was  to  give  us  a  proof  of  his  hon- 
esty. It  seems  a  passenger  paid  him  twenty- 
seven  pounds  for  a  berth  in  the  Proserpine  just 
before  she  sailed.  Well,  sir,  he  might  have  put 
this  in  his  pocket,  and  nobody  been  the  wiser: 
but  no,  he  entered  the  transaction,  and  the  num- 
bers of  the  notes,  and  left  the  notes  themselves 
in  an  envelope  addressed  to  me.  What  I  am 
most  afraid  of  is,  that  some  harm  has  come  to 
him,  poor  lad." 

"What  day  did  he  disappear  ?" 

"The  1 1th  of  November." 

"The  day  my  daughter  sailed  for  England," 
said  General  Rolleston,  thoughtfully. 

"Was  it,  sir?  Yes, I  remember.  She  went 
in  the  Proserpine." 

General  Rolleston  knitted  his  brows  in  silence 
for  some  time;  then  he  said,  "I'll  set  the  de- 
tectives on  his  track." 

"Not  to  punish  him,  General.  We  don't 
want  him  punished." 

"To  punish  him,  protect  him,  or  avenge  him, 
as  the  case  may  require,"  was  the  reply,  uttered 
very  gravely. 

Mr.  White  took  his  leave.  General  Rolleston 
rang  the  bell,  and  directed  his  servant  to  go  for 
Hexham,  the  detective. 

He  then  rang  the  bell  again,  and  sent  for  Sa- 
rah Wilson.  He  put  some  searching  questions 
to  this  woman  ;  and  his  interrogatory  had  hard- 
ly concluded  when  Hexham  was  announced. 
Genera]  Rolleston  dismissed  the  girl,  and,  look- 
ing now  very  grave  indeed,  asked  the  detective 
whether  he  remembered  James  Seaton. 

"That  I  do,  sir." 

"He  has  levanted." 

"Taken  much,  sir?" 

"Not  a  shilling." 

"Gotie  to  the  diggings?" 

"That  you  must  find  out." 

"What  day  was  he  first  missed,  sir?" 

"  Eleventh  of  November.  The  very  day  Miss 
Rolleston  left." 

Hexham  took  out  a  little  greasy  note-book, 
and  examined  it.  "Eleventh  of  November," 
said  he,  "then  I  almost  think  I  have  got  a  clue, 
sir;  but  I  shall  know  more  when  I  have  had  a 
word  with  two  parties."    With  this  he  retired. 

But  he  came  again  at  night,  and  brought  Gen- 
eral Rolleston  some  positive  information ;  with 
this,  however,  we  shall  not  trouble  the  reader 
just  here:  for  General  Rolleston  himself  related 
it,  and  the  person  to  whom  he  did  relate  it,  and 
the  attendant  circumstances,  gave  it  a  peculiar 
interest. 

Suffice  it  to  say  here,  that  General  Rolleston 
went  on  board  the  Shannon  charged  with  curi- 
ous information  about  James  Seaton  ;  and  sail- 
ed for  England  in  the  wake  of  the  Proserpine, 
and  about  two  thousancLmiles  astern. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Wardlaw  was  at  home  before  this  with  his 
hands  full  of  business  ;  and  it  is  time  the  reader 
should  be  let  into  one  secret  at  least,  which  this 
merchant  had  contrived  to  conceal  from  the  City 
of  London,  and  from  his  own  father,  and  from 
every  human  creature,  except  one  poor,  simple 
devoted  soul,  called  Michael  Penfold. 


There  are  men,  who  seem  stupid,  yet  general- 
ly go  right ;  there  are  also  clever  men,  who  ap- 
pear to  have  the  art  of  blundering  wisely:  usa- 
pienter  descendunt  in  infernum"  as  the  ancients 
have  it ;  and  some  of  these  latter  will  even  lie 
on  their  backs,  after  a  fall,  and  lift  up  their  voices, 
and  prove  to  you  that  in  the  nature  of  things 
they  ought  to  have  gone  up,  and  their  being 
down  is  monstrous ;  illusory. 

Arthur  Wardlaw  was  not  quite  so  clever  as 
all  that;  but  still  he  misconducted  the  business 
of  the  firm  with  perfect  ability  from  the  first 
month  he  entered  on  it.  Like  those  ambitious 
railways,  which  ruin  a  goodly  trunk  with  excess 
of  branches,  not  to  say  twigs,  he  set  to  work  ex- 
tending, and  extending,  and  sent  the  sap  of  the 
healthy  old  concern  a  flying  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth. 

He  was  not  only  too  ambitious,  and  not  cool 
enough  ;  he  was  also  unlucky,  or  under  a  curse, 
or  something ;  for  things  well  conceived  broke 
down  in  his  hands,  under  petty  accidents.  And, 
besides,  his  new  correspondents  and  agents  hit 
him  cruelly  hard.  Then  what  did  he?  Why, 
shot  good  money  after  bad,  and  lost  both.  He 
could  not  retrench,  for  his  game  was  conceal- 
ment ;  his  father  was  kept  in  the  dark,  and  drew 
his  four  thousand  a  year,  as  usual,  and,  upon 
any  hesitation  in  that  respect,  would  have  called 
in  an  accountant  and  wound  up  the  concern. 
But  this  tax  upon  the  receipts,  though  inconven- 
ient, was  a  trifle  compared  with  the  series  of 
heavy  engagements  that  were  impending.  The 
future  was  so  black,  that  Wardlaw  junior  was 
sore  tempted  to  realize  twenty  thousand  pounds, 
which  a  man  in  his  position  could  easily  do,  and 
fly  the  country.  But  this  would  have  been  to 
give  up  Helen  Rolleston ;  and  he  loved  her  too 
well.  His  brain  was  naturally  subtle  and  fertile 
in  expedients ;  so  he  brought  all  its  powers  to 
bear  on  a  double  problem, — how  to  marry  Helen, 
and  restore  the  concern  he  had  mismanaged  to 
its  former  state.  For  this,  a  large  sum  of  mon- 
ey was  needed,  not  less  than  ninety  thousand 
pounds. 

The  difficulties  were  great;  but  he  entered 
on  this  project  with  two  advantages.  In  the 
first  place,  he  enjoyed  excellent  credit;  in  the 
second,  he  was  not  disposed  to  be  scrupulous. 
He  had  been  cheated  several  times;  and  noth- 
ing undermines  feeble  rectitude  more  than  that. 
Such  a  man  as  Wardlaw  is  apt  to  establish  a 
sort  of  account  current  with  humanity. 

"Several  fellow-creatures  have  cheated  me. 
Well,  I  must  get  as  much  back,  by  hook  or  by 
crook,  from  several  fellow-creatures." 

After  much  hard  thought,  he  conceived  his 
double  master-stroke :  and  it  was  to  execute  this 
he  went  out  to  Australia. 

We  have  seen  that  he  persuaded  Helen  Rolles- 
ton to  come  to  England  and  be  married  ;  but,  as 
to  the  other  part  of  his  project,  that  is  a  matter 
for  the  reader  to  watch,  as  it  develops  itself. 

His  first  act  of  business,  on  reaching  England, 
was  to  insure  the  freights  of  the  Proserpine  and 
the  Shannon. 

He  sent  Michael  Penfold  to  Lloyd's  with  the 

requisite  vouchers,  including  the  receipts  of  the 

gold   merchants.      Penfold   easily  insured   the 

Shannon,  whose  freight  was  valued  at  only  six 

|  thousand   pounds.      The  Proserpine,  with  her 

:  cargo,  and  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  pounds 


21 


FOUL  PLAY. 


of  specie  to  boot,  was  another  matter.  Some 
underwriters  had  an  objection  to  specie,  being 
subject  to  theft  as  well  as  shipwreck  ;  other  un- 
derwriters, applied  to  by  Penfold,  acquiesced ; 
others  called  on  Wardlaw  himself,  to  ask  a  few 
questions,  and  he  replied  to  them  courteously, 
but  with  a  certain  nonchalance,  treating  it  as  an 
affair  which  might  be  big  to  them,  but  was  not 
of  particular  importance  to  a  merchant  doing 
business  on  his  scale. 

To  one  underwriter,  Condell,  with  whom  he 
was  on  somewhat  intimate  terms,  he  said,  "I 
wish  I  could  insure  the  Shannon  at  her  value ; 
but  that  is  impossible  :  the  City  of  London  could 
not  do  it.  The  Proserpine  brings  me  some  cases 
of  specie,  but  my  true  treasure  is  on  board  the 
Shannon.     She  carries  my  bride,  sir." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !     Miss  Rolleston  ?" 

5 '  Ah,  I  remember ;  you  have  seen  her.  Then 
you  will  not  be  surprised  at  a  proposal  I  shall 
make  you.  Underwrite  the  Shannon  a  million 
pounds,  to  be  paid  by  you  if  harm  befalls  my 
Helen.  You  need  not  look  so  astonished ;  I 
was  only  joking ;  you  gentlemen  deal  with  none 
but  substantial  values ;  and,  as  for  me,  a  million 
would  no  more  compensate  me  for  losing  her, 
than  for  losing  my  own  life." 

The  tears  were  in  his  pale  eyes  as  he  said 
these  words;  and  Mr.  Condell  eyed  him  with 
sympathy.  But  he  soon  recovered  himself,  and 
was  the  man  of  business  again.  "  Oh,  the  specie 
on  board  the  Proserpine  ?  Well,  I  was  in  Aus- 
tralia, you  know,  and  bought  that  specie  myself 
of  the  merchants  whose  names  are  attached  to 
the  receipts.  I  deposited  the  cases  with  White 
and  Co.  at  Sydney.  Penfold  will  show  you  the 
receipt.  I  intrusted  Joseph  Wylie,  mate  of  the 
Proserpine,  and  a  trustworthy  person,  to  see  them 
stowed  away  in  the  Proserpine  by  White  and  Co. 
Hudson  is  a  good  seaman ;  and  the  Proserpine 
a  new  ship,  built  by  Mare.  We  have  nothing  to 
fear  but  the  ordinary  perils  of  the  sea." 

"  So  one  would  think,"  said  Mr.  Condell,  and 
took  his  leave ;  but,  at  the  door,  he  hesitated, 
and  then,  looking  down  a  little  sheepishly,  said, 
"Mr.  Wardlaw,  may  I  offer  you  a  piece  of  ad- 
vice ?" 

"Certainly." 

"  Then,  double  the  insurance  on  the  Shannon, 
if  you  can." 

With  these  words  he  slipped  out,  evidently  to 
avoid  questions  he  did  not  intend  to  answer. 

Wardlaw  stared  after  him,  stupidly  at  first, 
and  then  stood  up  and  put  his  hand  to  his  head 
in  a  sort  of  amazement.  Then  he  sat  down 
again,  ashy  pale,  and  with  the  dew  on  his  fore- 
head, and  muttered  faintly,  "Double — the  insur- 
ance— of  the — Shannon !" 

Men  who  walk  in  crooked  paths  are  very  sub- 
ject to  such  surprises  ;  doomed,  like  Ahab,  to  be 
pierced,  through  the  joints  of  their  armor,  by  ran- 
dom shafts ;  by  words  uttered  in  one  sense,  but 
conscience  interprets  them  in  another. 

It  took  a  good  many  underwriters  to  insure 
the  Proserpine's  freight;  but  the  business  was 
done  at  last. 

Then  Wardlaw,  who  had  feigned  insouciance 
so  admirably  in  that  part  of  his  interview  with 
Condell,  went,  without  losing  an  hour,  and  raised 
a  large  sum  of  money  on  the  insured  freight,  to 
meet  the  bills  that  were  coming  due  for  the  gold 


(for  he  had  paid  for  most  of  it  in  paper  at  short 
dates),  and  also  other  bills  that  were  approaching 
maturity.  This  done,  he  breathed  again,  safe  for 
a  month  or  two  from  every  thing  short  of  a  gen- 
eral panic,  and  full  of  hope  from  his  coming  mas- 
ter-stroke. Buttwo  months  soon  pass  when  a  man 
has  a  flock  of  kites  in  the  air.  Pass  ?  They  fly. 
So  now  he  looked  out  anxiously  for  his  Austra- 
lian ships ;  and  went  to  Lloyd's  every  day  to  hear 
if  either  had  been  seen,  or  heard  of  by  steamers, 
or  by  faster  sailing  vessels  than  themselves. 

And,  though  Condell  had  underwritten  the 
Proserpine  to  the  tune  of  eight  thousand  pounds, 
yet  still  his  mysterious  words  rang  strangely  in 
the  merchant's  ears,  and  made  him  so  uneasy 
that  he  employed  a  discreet  person  to  sound  Con- 
dell as  to  what  he  meant  by  "  double  the  insur- 
ance of  the  Shannon." 

It  turned  out  to  be  the  simplest  affair  in  the 
world ;  Condell  had  secret  information  that  the 
Shannon  was  in  bad  repair,  so  he  had  advised 
his  friend  to  insure  her  heavily.  For  the  same 
reason,  he  declined  to  underwrite  her  freight 
himself. 

With  respect  to  those  ships,  our  readers  al- 
ready know  two  things,  of  which  Wardlaw  him- 
self, nota  bene,  had  no  idea;  namely,  that  the 
Shannon  had  sailed  last,  instead  of  first,  and 
that  Miss  Rolleston  was  not  on  board  of  her, 
but  in  the  Proserpine,  two  thousand  miles 
ahead. 

To  that,  your  superior  knowledge,  we,  posters 
of  the  sea  and  land,  are  about  to  make  a  large 
addition,  and  relate  things  strange,  but  true. 
While  that  anxious  and  plotting  merchant  strains 
his  eyes  seaward,  trying  hard  to  read  the  future, 
we  carry  you,  in  a  moment  of  time,  across  the 
Pacific,  and  board  the  leading  vessel,  the  good 
ship  Proserpine,  homeward  bound. 

The  ship  left  Sydney  with  a  fair  wind,  but 
soon  encountered  adverse  weather,  and  made 
slow  progess,  being  close-hauled,  which  was 
her  worst  point  of  sailing.  She  pitched  a  good 
deal,  and  that  had  a  very  ill  effect  on  Miss  Rol- 
leston. She  was  not  seasick,  but  thoroughly  out 
of  sorts :  and,  in  one  week,  became  perceptibly 
paler  and  thinner  than  when  she  started. 

The  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Hazel,  watched  her 
with  respectful  anxiety,  and  this  did  not  escape 
her  feminine  observation.  She  noted  quietly 
that  those  dark  eyes  of  his  followed  her  with  a 
mournful  tenderness,  but  withdrew  their  gaze 
when  she  looked  at  him.  Clearly,  he  was  inter- 
ested in  her,  but  had  no  desire  to  intrude  upon 
her  attention.  He  would  bring  up  the  squabs 
for  her,  and  some  of  his  own  wraps,  when  she 
staid  on  deck,  and  was  prompt  with  his  arm 
when  the  vessel  lurched ;  and  showed  her  those 
other  little  attentions  which  are  called  for  on 
board  ship,  but  without  a  word.  Yet,  when  she 
thanked  him  in  the  simplest  and  shortest  way, 
his  great  eyes  flashed  with  pleasure,  and  the 
color  mounted  to  his  very  temples. 

Engaged  young  ladies  are,  for  various  reasons, 
more  sociable  with  the  other  sex  than  those  who 
are  still  on  the  universal  mock-defensive :  a  ship, 
like  a  distant  country,  thaws  even  English  re- 
serve, and  women  in  general  are  disposed  to  ad- 
mit ecclesiastics  to  certain  privileges.  No  won- 
der then  that  Miss  Rolleston,  after  a  few  days, 
met  Mr.  Hazel  half-way ;  and  they  made  ac- 
quaintance on  board  the  Proserpine,  in  mono- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


25 


syllables  at  first;  but,  the  ice  once  fairly  broken, 
the  intercourse  of  mind  became  rather  rapid. 

At  first  it  was  a  mere  intellectual  exchange, 
but  one  very  agreeable  to  Miss  Kolleston  ;  for  a 
fine  memory,  and  omnivorous  reading  from  his 
very  boyhood,  with  the  habit  of  taking  notes,  and 
reviewing  them,  had  made  Mr.  Hazel  a  walking 
dictionary,  and  a  walking  essayist  if  required. 

But  when  it  came  to  something  which  most  of 
all  the  young  lady  had  hoped  from  this  tempo- 
rary acquaintance,  viz.,  religious  instruction,  she 
found  him  indeed  as  learned  on  that  as  on  other 
topics,  but  cold,  and  devoid  of  unction :  so  much 
so  that  one  day  she  said  to  him,  "I  can  hardly 
believe  you  have  ever  been  a  missionary."  But 
at  that  he  seemed  so  distressed,  that  she  was 
sorry  for  him,  and  said  sweetly,  "Excuse  me, 
Mr." Hazel,  ray  remark  was  in  rather  bad  taste, 
I  fear." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he.  "  Of  course  I  am  un- 
fit for  missionary  work,  or  I  should  not  be  here." 

Miss  Rolleston  took  a  good  look  at  him,  but 
said  nothing.  However,  his  reply  and  her  peru- 
sal of  his  countenance  satisfied  her  that  he  was 
a  man  with  very  little  petty  vanity  and  petty  ir- 
ritability. 

One  day  they  were  discoursing  of  gratitude  ; 
and  Mr.  Hazel  said  he  had  a  poor  opinion  of 
those  persons  who  speak  of  "  the  burden  of  grati- 
tude," and  make  a  fuss  about  being  "laid  un- 
der an  obligation." 

"As  for  me"  said  he,  "I  have  owed  such  a 
debt,  and  found  the  sense  of  it  very  sweet." 

"But  perhaps  you  were  always  hoping  to 
make  a  return,"  said  Helen. 

"That  I  was  :  hoping  against  hope." 

"Do  you  think  people  are  grateful,  in  gen- 
eral?" 

"No,  Miss  Rolleston,  I  do  not." 

"Well,  I  think  they  are.  To  me,  at  least. 
Why,  I  have  experienced  gratitude  even  in  a 
convict.  It  was  a  poor  man,  who  had  been 
transported  for  something  or  other,  and  he  beg- 
ged papa  to  take  him  for  his  gardener.  Papa 
did,  and  he  was  so  grateful  that,  do  you  know, 
he  suspected  our  house  was  to  be  robbed,  and 
he  actually  watched  in  the  garden  night  after 
night :  and,  what  do  you  think  ?  the  house  was 
attacked  by  a  whole  gang ;  but  poor  Mr.  Seaton 
confronted  them  and  shot  one,  and  was  wound- 
ed cruelly ;  but  he  beat  them  off  for  us ;  and 
was  not  that  gratitude  ?" 

While  she  was  speaking  so  earnestly,  Mr. 
Hazel's  blood  seemed  to  run  through  his  veins 
like  heavenly  fire,  but  he  said  nothing,  and  the 
lady  resumed  with  gentle  fervor,  "Well,  we  got 
him  a  clerk's  place  in  a  shipping-office,  and 
heard  no  more  of  him ;  but  he  did  not  forget 
us ;  my  cabin  here  was  fitted  up  with  every  com- 
fort, and  every  delicacy.  I  thanked  papa  for  it ; 
but  he  looked  so  blank  I  saw  directly  he  knew 
nothing  about  it ;  and,  now  I  think  of  it,  it  was 
Mr.  Seaton.  I  am  positive  it  was.  Poor  fel- 
low !  And  I  should  not  even  know  him  if  I 
saw  him." 

Mr.  Hazel  observed,  in  a  low  voice,  that  Mr. 
Seaton's  conduct  did  not  seem  wonderful  to  him. 
"Still,"  said  he,  "one  is  glad  to  find  there  is 
some  good  left  even  in  a  criminal." 

"A  criminal,"  cried  Helen  Rolleston,  firing 
up.  "  Pray,  who  says  he  was  a  criminal  ?  Mr. 
Hazel,  once  for  all,  no  friend  of  mine  ever  de- 


serves such  a  name  as  that.  A  friend  of  mine 
may  commit  some  great  error  or  imprudence; 
but  that  is  all.  The  poor  grateful  soul  was 
never  guilty  of  any  downright  wickedness  :  that 
stands  to  reason" 

Mr.  Hazel  did  not  encounter  this  feminine 
logic  with  his  usual  ability  ;  he  muttered  some- 
thing or  other,  with  a  trembling  lip,  and  left  her 
so  abruptly,  that  she  asked  herself  whether  she 
had  inadvertently  said  any  thing  that  could  have 
offended  him ;  and  awaited  an  explanation. 
But  none  came.  The  topic  was  never  revived 
by  Mr.  Hazel ;  and  his  manner,  at  their  next 
meeting,  showed  he  liked  her  none  the  worse 
that  she  stood  up  for  her  friends. 

The  wind  steady  from  the  west  for  two  whole 
days,  and  the  Proserpine  showed  her  best  sail- 
ing qualities,  and  ran  four  hundred  and  fifty 
miles  in  that  time. 

Then  came  a  dead  calm,  and  the  sails  flap- 
ped lazily,  and  the  masts  described  an  arc ;  and 
the  sun  broiled ;  and  the  sailors  whistled  ;  and 
the  captain  drank ;  and  the  mate  encouraged 
him. 

During  this  calm  Miss  Rolleston  fell  down- 
right ill,  and  quitted  the  deck.  Then  Mr.  Ha- 
zel was  very  sad  :  borrowed  all  the  books  in  the 
ship,  and  read  them,  and  took  notes :  and,  when 
he  had  done  this,  he  was  at  leisure  to  read  men, 
and  so  began  to  study  Hiram  Hudson,  Joseph 
Wylie,  and  others,  and  take  a  few  notes  about 
them. 

From  these  we  select  some  that  are  better 
worth  the  reader's  attention  than  any  thing  we 
could  relate  in  our  own  persons  at  this  stagnant 
part  of  the  story. 

PASSAGES  FROM  MR.  HAZEL'S  DIARY. 
"  Characters  on  board  the  Proserpine. 

"  There  are  two  sailors,  messmates,  who  have 
formed  an  antique  friendship;  their  names  are 
John  Welch  and  Samuel  Cooper.  Welch  is  a 
very  able  seaman,  and  a  chatterbox.  Cooper  is 
a  good  sailor,  but  very  silent  ;  only  what  he  does 
say  is  much  to  the  purpose. 

"The  gabble  of  Welch  is  agreeable  to  the 
silent  Cooper;  and  Welch  admires  Cooper's 
taciturnity. 

"I  asked  Welch  what  made  him  like  Cooper 
so  much.  And  he  said,  '  Why,  you  see,  sir,  he 
is  my  messmate,  for  one  thing,  and  a  seaman 
that  knows  his  work  ;  and  then  he  has  been  well 
eddycated,  and  he  knows  when  to  hold  his 
tongue,  does  Sam.' 

"I  asked  Cooper  why  he  was  so  fond  of 
Welch.  He  only  grunted  in  an  uneasy  way  at 
first;  but  when  I  pressed  for  a  reply,  he  let  out 
two  words, — '  Capital  company;'  and  got  away 
from  me. 

"  Their  friendship,  though  often  roughly  ex- 
pressed, is  really  a  tender  and  touching  senti- 
ment. I  think  either  of  these  sailors  would  bare 
his  back  and  take  a  dozen  lashes  in  place  of 
his  messmate.  I  too  once  thought  I  had  made 
such  a  friend.    Eheu ! 

"  Both  Cooper  and  Welch  seem,  by  their  talk, 
to  consideV  the  ship  a  living  creature.  Cooper 
chews.  Welch  only  smokes,  and  often  lets  his 
pipe  out :  he  is  so  voluble. 

"Captain  Hudson  is  quite  a  character :  or, 


S6 


FOUL  PLAY. 


I  might  say  two  characters ;  for  he  is  one  man 
when  he  is  sober,  and  another  when  he  is  the 
worse  for  liquor :  and  that  I  am  sorry  to  see  is 
very  often.  Captain  Hudson,  sober,  is  a  rough, 
bearish  seaman,  with  a  quick,  experienced  eye, 
that  takes  in  every  rope  in  the  ship,  as  he  walks 
up  and  down  his  quarter-deck.  He  either  evades 
or  bluntly  declines  conversation,  and  gives  his 
whole  mind  to  sailing  his  ship. 

"  Captain  Hudson,  drunk,  is  a  garrulous  man, 
who  seems  to  have  drifted  back  into  the  past. 
He  comes  up  to  you  and  talks  of  his  own  accord, 
and  always  about  himself,  and  what  he  did  fif- 
teen or  twenty  years  since.  He  forgets  whatever 
has  occurred  half  an  hour  ago;  and  his  eye, 
which  was  an  eagle's,  is  now  a  mole's.  He  no 
longer  sees  what  his  sailors  are  doing  alow  or 
aloft ;  to  be  sure,  he  no  longer  cares  ;  his  present 
ship  may  take  care  of  herself  while  he  is  talking 
of  his  past  ones.  But  the  surest  indicia  of  ine- 
briety in  Hudson  are  these  two.  First,  his  nose 
is  red.  Secondly,  he  discourses  upon  a  seaman's 
duty  to  his  employers.  Ebrius  rings  the  changes 
on  his  '  duty  to  his  employers  '  till  drowsiness  at- 
tacks his  hearers.  Cicero  de  officiis  was  all  very 
well  at  a  certain  period  of  one's  life :  but  bibu- 
lus  nauta  de  officiis  is  rather  too  much. 

"  N.B. — Except  when  his  nose  is  red,  not  a 
word  about  his  '  duty  to  his  employers.'  That 
phrase,  like  a  fine  lady,  never  ventures  into  the 
morning  air.  It  is  purely  post-prandial,  and  sa- 
cred to  occasions  when  he  is  utterly  neglecting 
his  duty  to  his  employers,  and  to  every  body  else. 

"All  this  is  ridiculous  enough,  but  somewhat 
alarming.  To  think  that  her  precious  life  should 
be  intrusted  to  the  care  and  skill  of  so  unreliable 
a  captain  ! 

"  Joseph  Wylie,  the  mate,  is  less  eccentric, 
but  even  more  remarkable.  He  is  one  of  those 
powerfully  built  fellows  whom  Nature,  one  would 
think,  constructed  to  gain  all  their  ends  by  force 
and  directness.  But  no  such  thing ;  he  goes 
about  as  softly  as  a  cat ;  is  always  popping  out 
of  holes  ajid  corners  ;  and  I  can  see  he  watches 
me,  and  tries  to  hear  what  I  say  to  her.  He  is 
civil  to  me  when  I  speak  to  him  ;  yet  I  notice  he 
avoids  me  quietly.  Altogether  there  is  some- 
thing about  him  that  puzzles  me.  Why  was  he 
so  reluctant  to  let  me  on  board  as  a  passenger  ? 
Why  did  he  tell  a  downright  falsehood?  For 
he  said  there  was  no  room  for  me  ;  yet,  even 
now,  there  are  two  cabins  vacant,  and  he  has 
taken  possession  of  them. 

"  The  mate  of  this  ship  has  several  barrels  of 
spirits  in  his  cabin,  or  rather,  cabins,  and  it  is  he 
who  makes  the  captain  drunk.  I  learned  this 
from  one  of  the  boys.  This  looks  ugly.  I  fear 
Wylie  is  a  bad,  designing  man,  who  wishes  to 
ruin  the  captain,  and  so  get  his  place.  But, 
meantime,  the  ship  might  be  endangered  by  this 
drunkard's  misconduct.  I  shall  watch  Wylie 
closely,  and  perhaps  put  the  captain  on  his  guard 
against  this  false  friend. 

"  Last  night  a  breeze  got  up  about  sunset,  and 
H.  E.  came  on  deck  for  half  an  hour.  I  wel- 
comed her  as  calmly  as  I  could ;  but  I  felt  my 
voice  tremble  and  my  heart  throb.  She  told  me 
the  voyage  tired  her  much  ;  but  it  was  the  last 
she  should  have  to  make.  How  strange,  how 
hellish  (God  forgive  me  for  saying  so  !)  it  seems 
that  she  should  love  him.     But,  does  she  love 


him  ?  Can  she  love  him  ?  Could  she  love  him 
if  she  knew  all  ?  Know  him  she  shall  before  she 
marries  him.    For  the  present,  be  still,  my  heart. 

"  She  soon  went  below  and  left  me  desolate. 
I  wandered  all  ajbout  the  ship,  and,  at  last,  I 
came  upon  the  inseparables,  Welch  and  Cooper. 
They  were  squatted  on  the  deck,  and  Welch's 
tongue  going  as  usual.  He  was  talking  about 
this  Wylie,  and  saying  that,  in  all  his  ships,  he 
had  never  known  such  a  mate  as  this;  why,  the 
captain  was  under  his  thumb.  He  then  gave  a 
string  of  captains,  each  of  whom  would  have 
given  his  mate  a  round  dozen  at  the  gangway, 
if  he  had  taken  so  much  on  him  as  this  one 
does. 

"  '  Grog !'  suggested  Cooper,  in  extenuation. 

"Welch  admitted  Wylie  was  liberal  with  that, 
and  friendly  enough  with  the  men ;  but  still, 
he  preferred  to  see  a  ship  commanded  by  the 
captain,  and  not  by  a  lubber  like  Wylie. 

"I  expressed  some  surprise  at  this  term,  and 
said  I  had  envied  Wylie's  nerves  in  a  gale  of 
wind  we  encountered  early  in  the  voyage. 

"The  talking  sailor  explained,  '  In  course,  he 
has  been  to  sea  afore  this,  and  weathered  many 
a  gale.  But  so  has  the  cook.  That  don't  make 
a  man  a  sailor.  You  ask  him  how  to  send  down 
a  to'-gallant  yard  or  gammon  a  bowsprit,  or  even 
mark  a  lead  line,  and  he'll  stare  at  ye,  like  Old 
Nick,  when  the  angel  caught  him  with  the  red- 
hot  tongs,  and  questioned  him  out  of  the  Church 
Catechism.  Ask  Sam  there,  if  ye  don't  believe 
me.  Sam,  what  do  you  think  of  this  Wylie  for 
a  seaman?' 

"  Cooper  could  not  afford  any  thing  so  pre- 
cious, in  his  estimate  of  things,  as  a  word ;  but 
he  lifted  a  great  brawny  hand,  and  gave  a  snap 
with  his  finger  and  thumb,  that  disposed  of  the 
mate's  pretensions  to  seamanship  more  express- 
ively than  words  could  have  done  it. 

"The  breeze  has  freshened, and  the  ship  glides 
rapidly  through  the  water,  bearing  us  all  home- 
ward. Helen  Rolleston  has  resumed  her  place 
upon  the  deck ;  and  all  seems  bright  again.  I 
ask  myself  how  we  existed  without  the  sight  of 
her. 

"This  morning  the  wind  shifted  to  the  south- 
west ;  the  captain  surprised  us  by  taking  in  sail. 
But  his  sober  eye  had  seen  something  more  than 
ours ;  for  at  noon  it  blew  a  gale,  and  by  sunset 
it  was  deemed  prudent  to  bring  the  ship's  head 
to  the  wind,  and  Ave  are  now  Lying  to.  The  ship 
lurches,  and  the  wind  howls  through  the  bare 
rigging  ;  but  she  rides  buoyantly,  and  no  danger 
is  apprehended. 

"Last  night,  as  I  lay  in  my  cabin,  unable  to 
sleep,  I  heard  some  heavy  blows  strike  the  ship's 
side  repeatedly,  causing  quite  a  vibration.  I  felt 
alarmed,  and  went  out  to  tell  the  captain.  But 
I  was  obliged  to  go  on  my  hands  and  knees, 
such  was  the  force  of  the  wind.  Passing  the 
mate's  cabin,  I  heard  sounds  that  made  me  lis- 
ten acutely  ;  and  I  then  found  the  blows  were 
being  struck  inside  the  ship.  I  got  to  the  cap- 
tain and  told  him.  *  Oh,'  said  he,  { ten  to  one 
it's  the  mate  nailing  down  his  chests,  or  the  like." 
But  I  assured  him  the  blows  struck  the  side  of 
the  ship,  and,  at  my  earnest  request,  he  came 
out  and  listened.  He  swore  a  great  oath,  and 
said  the  lubber  would  be  through  the  ship's  side. 
He  then  tried  the  cabin  door,  but  it  was  locked. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"  The  sounds  ceased  directly. 

"  We  called  to  the  mate,  but  received  no  re- 
ply for  a  long  time.  At  last  Wylie  came  out  of 
the  gun-room,  looking  rather  pale,  and  asked 
what  was  the  matter. 

"  I  told  him  he  ought  to  know  best,  for  the 
blows  were  heard  where  he  had  just  come  from. 

"'Blows!'  said  he;  'I  believe  you.  Why, 
a  tierce  of  butter  had  got  adrift,  and  was  bump- 
ing up  and  down  the  hold  like  thunder.'  Pie 
then  asked  us  whether  that  was  what  we  had 
disturbed  him  for,  entered  his  cabin,  and  almost 
slammed  the  door  in  our  faces. 

"I  remarked  to  the  captain  on  his  disrespect- 
ful conduct.  The  captain  was  civil,  and  said  I 
was  right ;  he  was  a  cross-grained  unmanage- 
able brute,  and  he  wished  he  was  out  of  the  ship. 
'But  you  see,  sir, he  has  got  the  ear  of  the  mer- 
chant ashore  ;  and  so  I  am  obliged  to  hold  a 
candle  to  the  devil,  as  the  saying  is.'  He  then 
fired  a  volley  of  oaths  and  abuse  at  the  offend- 
er; and,  not  to  encourage  foul  language,  I  re- 
tired to  my  cabin. 

"The  wind  declined  towards  daybreak,  and 
the  ship  recommenced  her  voyage  at  8  a.m.,  but 
under  treble -reefed  topsails  and  reefed  courses. 

"I  caught  the  captain  and  mate  talking  to- 
gether in  the  friendliest  way  possible.  That 
Hudson  is  a  humbug  ;  there  is  some  mystery  be- 
tween him  and  the  mate. 

"  To-day  H.  R.  was  on  deck,  for  several  hours, 
conversing  sweetly,  and  looking  like  the  angel 
she  is.  But  happiness  soon  flies  from  me ;  a 
steamer  came  in  sight,  bound  for  Sydney.  She 
signalled  us  to  heave  to,  and  send  a  boat.  This 
was  done,  and  the  boat  brought  back  a  letter  for 
her.  It  seems  they  took  us  for  the  Shannon,  in 
which  ship  she  was  expected. 

1 '  The  letter  was  from  him.  How  her  cheek 
flushed  and  her  eye  beamed  as  she  took  it.  And 
oh,  the  sadness,  the  agony,  that  stood  beside  her 
unheeded. 

"  I  left  the  deck ;  I  could  not  have  contained 
myself.  What  a  thing  is  wealth !  By  wealth, 
that  wretch  can  stretch  out  his  hand  across  the 
ocean,  and  put  a  letter  into  her  hand  under  my 
very  eye.  Away  goes  all  that  I  have  gained  by 
being  near  her  while  he  is  far  away.  He  is  not 
in  England  now, — he  is  here.  His  odious  pres- 
ence has  driven  me  from  her.  Oh  that  I  could 
be  a  child  again,  or  in  my  grave,  to  get  away 
from  this  Hell  of  Love  and  Hate." 

At  this  point  we  beg  leave  to  take  the  narra- 
tive into  our  own  hands  again. 

Mr.  Hazel  actually  left  the  deck  to  avoid  the 
sight  of  Helen  Kolleston's  flushed  cheek  and 
beaming  eyes,  reading  Arthur  Wardlaw's  let- 
ter. 

And  here  we  may  as  well  observe  that  he  re- 
tired not  merely  because  the  torture  was  hard  to 
bear.  He  had  some  disclosures  to  make,  on 
reaching  England  ;  but  his  good  sense  told  him 
this  was  not  the  time  or  the  place  to  make  them, 
nor  Helen  Rolleston  the  person  to  whom,  in  the 
first  instance,  they  ought  to  be  made. 

While  he  tries  to  relieve  his  swelling  heart  by 
putting  its  throbs  on  paper  (and,  in  truth,  this 
is  some  faint  relief,  for  want  of  which  many  a 
less  unhappy  man  than  Hazel  has  gone  mad), 
let  us  stay  by  the  lady's  side,  and  read  her  letter 
with  her. 


u  Russell  Square,  Dec.  15,  1SC5. 

"  My  dear  Love  : — Hearing  that  the  Ante- 
lope steam-packet  was  going  to  Sydney,  by  way 
of  Cape  Horn,  I  have  begged  the  captain,  who  is 
under  some  obligations  to  me,  to  keep  a  good 
lookout  for  the  Shannon,  homeward  bound,  and 
board  her  with  these  lines,  weather  permitting. 

"Of  course  the  chances  are  you  will  not  re- 
ceive them  at  sea;  but  still  you  possibly  may; 
and  my  heart  is  so  full  of  you,  I  seize  any  ex- 
cuse for  overflowing ;  and  then  I  picture  to  my- 
self that  bright  face  reading  an  unexpected  let- 
ter in  mid-ocean,  and  so  I  taste  beforehand  the 
greatest  pleasure  my  mind  can  conceive, — the 
delight  of  giving  you  pleasure,  my  own  sweet 
Helen. 

"  News,  I  have  little.  You  know  how  deeply 
and  devotedly  you  are  beloved, — know  it  so  well 
that  I  feel  words  are  almost  wasted  in  repeating 
it.  Indeed,  the  time,  I  hope,  is  at  hand  when 
the  word  '  love '  will  hardly  be  mentioned  be- 
tween us.  For  my  part,  I  think  it  will  be  too 
visible  in  every  act,  and  look,  and  word  of  mine, 
to  need  repetition.  We  do  not  speak  much 
about  the  air  we  live  in.  We  breathe  it,  and 
speak  with  it,  not  of  it. 

"I  suppose  all  lovers  are  jealous.  I  think  I 
should  go  mad  if  you  were  to  give  me  a  rival ; 
but  then  I  do  not  understand  that  ill-natured 
jealousy  which  would  rob  the  beloved  object  of 
all  affections  but  the  one.  I  know  my  Helen 
loves  her  father, — loves  him,  perhaps,  as  well,  or 
better,  than  she  does  me.  Well,  in  spite  of  that, 
I  love  him  too.  Do  you  know,  I  never  see  that 
erect  form,  that  model  of  courage  and  probity, 
come  into  a  room,  but  I  say  to  myself,  'Here 
comes  my  benefactor ;  but  for  this  man  there 
would  be  no  Helen  in  the  world.'  Well,  dear- 
est, an  unexpected  circumstance  has  given  me  a 
little  military  influence  (these  things  do  happen 
in  the  City) ;  and  I  really  believe  that,  what  with 
his  acknowledged  merits  (I  am  secretly  informed 
a  very  high  personage  said,  the  other  day,  he  had 
not  received  justice),  and  the  influence  I  speak 
of,  a  post  will  shortly  be  offered  to  your  father 
that  will  enable  him  to  live,  henceforth,  in  Eng.- 
land,  with  comfort,  I  might  say,  affluence.  Per- 
haps he  might  live  with  us.  That  depends  upon 
himself. 

"Looking  forward  to  this,  and  my  own  still 
greater  happiness,  diverts  my  mind  awhile  from 
the  one  ever  -  pressing  anxiety.  But,  alas!  it 
will  return.  By  this  time  my  Helen  is  on  the 
seas, — the  terrible,  the  treacherous,  the  cruel 
seas,  that  spare  neither  beauty  nor  virtue,  nor 
the  longing  hearts  at  home.  I  have  conducted 
this  office  for  some  years,  and  thought  I  knew 
care  and  anxiety.  But  I  find  I  knew  neither 
till  now. 

"  I  have  two  ships  at  sea,  the  Shannon  and 
the  Proserpine.  The  Proserpine  carries  eighteen 
chests  of  specie,  worth  a  hundred  and  thirty  thou- 
sand pounds.  I  don't  care  one  straw  whether  she 
sinks  or  swims.  But  the  Shannon  carries  my 
darling;  and  every  gust  at  night  awakens  me, 
and  every  day  I  go  into  the  great  room  at  Lloyd's 
and  watch  the  anemometer.  0  God  !  be  merciful, 
and  bring  my  angel  safe  to  me!  O  God  !  be  just, 
and  strike  her  not  for  my  offenses  ! 

"  Besides  the  direct  perils  of  the  sea,  are  some 
others  you  might  escape  by  prudence.  Pray 
avoid  the  night  air,  for  my  sake,  who  could  not 


28 


FOUL  PLAY. 


live  if  any  evil  befell  you  ;  and  be  careful  in  your 
diet.  You  were  not  looking  so  well  as  usual 
when  I  left.  Would  I  had  words  to  make  you 
know  your  own  value.  Then  you  would  feel  it 
a  duty  to  be  prudent. 

"  But  I  must  not  sadden  yon  with  my  fears ; 
let  me  turn  to  my  hopes.  How  bright  they  are ! 
what  joy,  what  happiness,  is  sailing  towards  me, 
nearer  and  nearer  every  day  !  I  ask  myself  what 
am  I  that  such  paradise  should  be  mine. 

"My  love,  when  we  are  one,  shall  we  share 
every  thought,  or  shall  I  keep  commerce,  specu- 
lation, and  its  temptations  away  from  your  pure 
spirit  ?  Sometimes  I  think  I  should  like  to  have 
neither  thought  nor  occupation  unshared  by  you ; 
and  that  you  would  purify  trade  itself  by  your 
contact ;  at  other  times  I  say  to  myself,  '  Oh,  nev- 
er soil  that  angel  with  your  miserable  business  ; 
but  go  home  to  her  as  if  you  were  going  from 
earth  to  heaven,  for  a  few  blissful  hours.'  But 
you  shall  decide  this  question,  and  every  other. 

' '  Must  I  close  this  letter  ?  Must  I  say  no  more, 
though  I  have  scarcely  begun  ? 

"  Yes,  I  will  end,  since,  perhaps,  you  will  nev- 
er see  it. 

-  "  When  I  have  sealed  it,  I  mean  to  hold  it  in 
my  clasped  hands,  and  so  pray  the  Almighty  to 
take  it  safe  to  you,  and  to  bring  you  safe  to  him 
who  can  never  know  peace  nor  joy  till  he  sees 
you  once  more.  Your  devoted  and  anxious 
lover,  Arthur  Wardlaw." 

Helen  Rolleston  read  this  letter  more  than 
once.  She  liked  it  none  the  less  for  being  dis- 
connected and  unbusiness-like.  She  had  seen 
her  Arthur's  business  letters  ;  models  of  courte- 
ous conciseness.  She  did  not  value  such  com- 
positions. This  one  she  did.  She  smiled  over 
it,  all  beaming  and  blushing;  she  kissed  it,  and 
read  it  again,  and  sat  with  it  in  her  lap. 

But  by-and-by  her  mood  changed,  and,  when 
Mr.  Hazel  ventured  upon  deck  again,  he  found 
her  with  her  forehead  sinking  on  her  extended 
arm,  and  the  lax  hand  of  that  same  arm  holding 
the  letter.     She  was  crying. 

The  whole  drooping  attitude  was  so  lovely,  so 
feminine,  yet  so  sad,  that  Hazel  stood  irresolute, 
looking  wistfully  at  her. 

She  caught  sight  of  him,  and,  by  a  natural 
impulse,  turned  gently  away,  as  if  to  hide  her 
tears.  But  the  next  moment  she  altered  her 
mind,  and  said,  with  a  quiet  dignity  that  came 
naturally  to  her  at  times,  "Why  should  I  hide 
my  care  from  you,  sir  ?  Mr.  Hazel,  may  I  speak 
to  you  as  a  clergyman?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Hazel,  in  a  somewhat 
faint  voice. 

She  pointed  to  a  seat,  and  he  sat  down  near 
her. 

She  was  silent  for  some  time ;  her  lip  quiver- 
ed a  little ;  she  was  struggling  inwardly  for  that 
decent  composure  which  on  certain  occasions 
distinguishes  the  lady  from  the  mere  woman  ; 
and  it  was  with  a  pretty  firm  voice  she  said  what 
follows : — 

"  I  am  going  to  tell  you  a  little  secret:  one  I 
have  kept  from  my  own  father.  It  is, — that  I 
have  not  very  long  to  live." 

Her  hazel  eye  rested  calmly  on  his  face  while 
she  said  these  words  quietly. 

He  received  them  with  amazement  at  first ; 
amazement,  that  soon   deepened  into  horror. 


"What  do  you  mean?"  he  gasped.  "WIktc 
words  are  these  ?" 

"Thank  you  for  minding  so  much,"  said  she 
sweetly.  "  I  will  tell  you  I  have  fits  of  coughing, 
not  frequent,  but  violent ;  and  then  blood  very 
often  comes  from  my  lungs.  That  is  a  bad  sign, 
you  know.  I  have  been  so  for  four  months  now, 
and  I  am  a  good  deal  wasted ;  my  hand  used  to 
be  very  plump,  look  at  it  now. — Poor  Arthur !" 

She  turned  away  her  head  to  drop  a  gentle, 
unselfish  tear  or  two ;  and  Hazel  stared  with  in- 
creasing alarm  at  the  lovely  but  wasted  hand  she 
still  held  out  to  him,  and  glanced,  too,  at  Arthur 
Wardlaw's  letter,  held  slightly  by  the  beloved 
fingers. 

He  said  nothing,  and,  when  she  looked  round 
again,  he  was  pale  and  trembling.  The  revela- 
tion was  so  sudden. 

"Pray  be  calm,  sir,"  said  she.  "We  need 
speak  of  this  no  more.  But  now,  I  think,  you 
will  not  be  surprised  that  I  come  to  you  for  re- 
ligious advice  and  consolation,  short  as  our  ac- 
quaintance is." 

"I  am  in  no  condition  to  give  them,"  said 
Hazel,  in  great  agitation.  "  I  can  think  of  noth- 
ing but  how  to  save  you.  May  Heaven  help  me, 
and  give  me  wisdom  for  that." 

"This  is  idle,"  said  Helen  Rolleston,  gently, 
but  firmly.  "I  have  had  the  best  advice  for 
months,  and  I  get  worse  ;  and,  Mr.  Hazel,  I  shall 
never  be  better.  So  aid  me  to  bow  to  the  will 
of  Heaven.  Sir,  I  do  not  repine  at  leaving  the 
world ;  but  it  does  grieve  me  to  think  how  my 
departure  will  affect  those  whose  happiness  is 
very,  very  dear  to  me." 

She  then  looked  at  the  letter,  blushed,  and 
hesitated  a  moment ;  but  ended  by  giving  it  to 
him  whom  she  had  applied  to  as  her  religious 
adviser. 

"Oblige  me  by  reading  that.  And,  when  you 
have,  I  think  you  will  grant  me  a  favor  I  wish 
to  ask  you.  Poor  fellow  !  so  full  of  hopes  that 
I  am  doomed  to  disappoint." 

She  rose  to  hide  her  emotion,  and  left  Arthur 
Wardlaw's  letter  in  the  hands  of  him  who  loved 
her,  if  possible,  more  devotedly  than  Arthur 
Wardlaw  did ;  and  she  walked  the  deck  pensive- 
ly, little  dreaming  how  strange  a  thing  she  had 
done. 

As  for  Hazel,  he  was  in  a  situation  poignant 
with  agony  ;  only  the  heavy  blow  that  had  just 
fallen  had  stunned  and  benumbed  him.  He  felt 
a  natural  repugnance  to  read  this  letter.  But 
she  had  given  him  no  choice.  He  read  it.  In 
reading  it  he  felt  a  mortal  sickness  come  over 
him,  but  he  persevered  ;  he  read  it,  carefully  to  the 
end,  and  he  was  examining  the  signature  keen- 
ly, when  Miss  Rolleston  rejoined  him,  and,  tak- 
ing the  letter  from  him,  placed  it  in  her  bosom 
before  his  eyes. 

"He  loves  me ;  does  he  not ?"  said  she,  wist- 
fully. 

Hazel  looked  half  stupidly  in  her  face  for  a 
moment;  then,  with  a  candor  which  was  part 
of  his  character,  replied,  doggedly,  "Yes,  the 
man  who  wrote  that  letter  loves  you." 

"Then  you  can  pity  him,  and  I  may  venture 
to  ask  you  the  favor  to —  It  will  be  a  bitter  grief 
and  disappointment  to  him.  Will  you  break  it 
to  him  as  gently  as  you  can  ;  will  you  say  that 
his  Helen—  Will  you  tell  him  what  I  have  told 
you?" 


FOUL  FLAY. 


29 


"I  decline." 

This  point-blank  refusal  surprised  Helen  Rol- 
leston  ;  all  the  more  that  it  was  uttered  with  a 
certain  sullenness,  and  even  asperity,  she  had 
never  seen  till  then  in  this  gentle  clergyman. 

It  made  her  fear  she  had  done  wrong  in  ask- 
ing it ;  and  she  looked  ashamed  and  distressed. 

However,  the  explanation  soon  followed. 

"My  business,"  said  he,  "is  to  prolong  your 
precious  life ;  and  making  up  your  mind  to  die  is 
not  the  way.  You  shall  have  no  encouragement 
in  such  weakness  from  me.  Fray  let  me  be  your 
physician." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Helen,  coldly;  "I  have 
my  own  physician." 

"No  doubt:  but  he  shows  me  his  incapacity, 
by  allowing  you  to  live  on  pastry  and  sweets  ; 
things  that  are  utter  poison  to  you.  Disease  of 
the  lungs  is  curable,  but  not  by  drugs  and  un- 
wholesome food." 

"  Mr.  Hazel,"  said  the  lady,  "we  will  drop 
the  subject,  if  you  please.  It  has  taken  an  un- 
interesting turn." 

"  To  you,  perhaps  ;  but  not  to  me." 

*?  Excuse  me,  sir ;  if  you  took  that  real  friend- 
ly interest  in  me  and  my  condition  I  was  vain 
enough  to  think  you  might,  you  would  hardly 
have  refused  me  the  first  favor  I  ever  asked  you  ; 
and,"  drawing  herself  up  proudly,  "need  I  say 
the  last?" 

"You  are  unjust,"  said  Hazel,  sadly;  "un- 
just beyond  endurance.  I  refuse  you  any  thing 
that  is  for  your  good?  I,  who  would  lay  down 
my  life  with  unmixed  joy  for  you  ?" 

"  Mr.  Hazel !"  And  she  drew  back  from  him 
with  a  haughty  stare. 

"  Learn  the  truth  why  I  can  not,  and  will  not, 
talk  to  Arthur  Wardlaw  about  you.  For  one 
thing,  he  is  my  enemy,  and  I  am  his." 

"  His  enemy  ?  my  Arthur's  !" 

"His  mortal  enemy.  And  I  am  going  to 
England  to  clear  an  innocent  man,  and  expose 
Arthur  Wardlaw's  guilt." 

"Indeed,"  said  Helen,  with  lofty  contempt. 
"And  pray  what  has  he  done  to youf 

"He  had  a  benefactor,  a  friend  ;  he  entrap- 
ped him  into  cashing  a  note  of  hand,  which  he 
must  have  known  or  suspected  to  be  forged ; 
then  basely  deserted  him  at  the  trial,  and  blast- 
ed his  friend's  life  forever." 

"Arthur  Wardlaw  did  that?" 

"He  did;  and  that  very  James  Seaton  was 
his  victim." 

Her  delicate  nostrils  were  expanded  with 
wrath,  and  her  eyes  flashed  fire.  "  Mr.  Hazel, 
you  are  a  liar  and  a  slanderer." 

The  man  gave  a  kind  of  shudder,  as  if  cold 
steel  had  passed  through  his  heart.  But  his 
fortitude  was  great;  he  said  doggedly,  "Time 
will  show.    Time,  and  a  jury  of  our  countrymen." 

"I  will  be  his  witness.  I  will  say,  this  is 
malice  of  a  rival.  Yes,  sir,  you  forget  that  you 
have  let  out  the  motive  of  this  wicked  slander. 
You  love  me  yourself:  Heaven  forgive  me  for 
profaning  the  name  of  love  !" 

"Heaven  forgive  you  for  blaspheming  the 
purest,  fondest  love  that  ever  one  creature  laid  at 
the  feet  of  another.  Yes,  Helen  Rolleston,  I  love 
you;  and  will  save  you  from  the  grave  and 
from  the  villain  Wardlaw;  both  from  one  and 
the  other." 

"Oh,"  said  Helen,  clenching  her  teeth,  "Ihope 


this  is  true  :  I  hope  you  do  love  me,  you  wretch ; 
then  I  may  find  a  way  to  punish  you  for  bely- 
ing the  absent,  and  stabbing  me  to  the  heart, 
through  him." 

Her  throat  swelled  with  a  violent  convulsion, 
and  she  could  utter  no  more  for  a  moment ;  and 
she  put  her  white  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  and 
drew  it  away  discolored  slightly  with  blood. 

"Ah!  you  love  me," she  cried;  "then  know, 
for  your  comfort,  that  you  have  shortened  my 
short  life  a  day  or  two,  by  slandering  him  to  my 
face,  you  monster.  Look  there  at  your  love,  and 
see  what  it  has  done  for  me." 

She  put  the  handkerchief  under  his  eyes,  with 
hate  gleaming  in  her  own. 

Mr.  Hazel  turned  ashy  pale,  and  glared  at  it 
with  horror ;  he  could  have  seen  his  own  shed, 
with  stoical  firmness ;  but  a  mortal  sickness 
struck  his  heart  at  the  sight  of  her  blood.  His 
hands  rose  and  quivered  in  a  peculiar  way,  his 
sight  left  him,  and  the  strong  man,  but  tender 
lover,  staggered,  and  fell  heavily  on  the  deck  in 
a  dead  swoon,  and  lay  at  her  feet  pale  and  mo- 
tionless. 

She  uttered  a  scream,  and  sailors  came  run- 
ning. 

They  lifted  him,  with  rough,  sympathy ;  and 
Helen  Rolleston  retired  to  her  cabin,  panting 
with  agitation.  But  she  had  little  or  no  pity  for 
the  slanderer.  She  read  Arthur  Wardlaw's  let- 
ter again,  kissed  it,  wept  over  it,  reproached  her- 
self for  not  having  loved  the  writer  enough ;  and 
vowed  to  repair  that  fault.  "Poor  slandered 
Arthur,"  said  she;  "from  this  hour  I  will  love 
you  as  devotedly  as  you  love  me." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


After  this,  Helen  Rolleston  and  Mr.  Hazel 
never  spoke.  She  walked  past  him  on  the  deck 
with  cold  and  haughty  contempt. 

He  quietly  submitted  to  it;  and  never  pre- 
sumed to  say  one  word  to  her  again.  Only,  as  his 
determination  was  equal  to  his  delicacy,  Miss 
Rolleston  found,  one  day,  a  paper  on  her  table, 
containing  advice  as  to  the  treatment  of  disorder- 
ed lungs,  expressed  with  apparent  coldness,  and 
backed  by  a  string  of  medical  authorities,  quoted 
memoriter. 

She  sent  this  back  directly,  indorsed  with  a 
line,  in  pencil,  that  she  would  try  hard  to  live, 
now  she  had  a  friend  to  protect  from  calumny ; 
but  should  use  her  own  judgment  as  to  the  means. 

Yet  women  will  be  women.  She  had  care- 
fully taken  a  copy  of  his  advice  before  she  cast 
it  out  with  scorn. 

He  replied,  "Live  with  whatever  motive  you 
please ;  only  live." 

To  this  she  vouchsafed  no  answer ;  nor  did 
this  unhappy  man  trouble  her  again,  until  an 
occasion  of  a  very  different  kind  arose. 

One  fine  night  he  sat  on  the  deck,  with  his 
back  against  the  main-mast,  in  deep  melancholy 
and  listlessness,  and  fell,  at  last,  into  a  doze, 
from  which  he  was  wakened  by  a  peculiar  sound 
below.  It  was  a  beautiful  and  stilly  night ;  all 
sounds  were  magnified ;  and  the  father  of  all 
rats  seemed  to  be  gnawing  the  ship  down  below. 

Hazel's  curiosity  was  excited,  and  he  went 
softly  down  the  ladder  to  see  what  the  sound 


30 


FOUL  PLAY. 


really  was.  But  that  was  not  so  easy,  for  it 
proved  to  be  below  decks ;  but  he  saw  a  light 
glimmering  through  a  small  scuttle  abaft  the 
mate's  cabin,  and  the  sounds  were  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  that  light. 

It  now  flashed  upon  Mr.  Hazel  that  this  was 
the  very  quarter  where  he  had  heard  that  mys- 
terious knocking  when  the  ship  was  lying  to  in 
the  gale. 

Upon  this  a  certain  degree  of  vague  suspicion 
began  to  mingle  with  his  curiosity. 

He  stood  still  a  moment,  listening  acutely ; 
then  took  off  his  shoes  very  quietly,  and  moved 
with  noiseless  foot  towards  the  scuttle. 

The  gnawing  still  continued. 

He  put  his  head  through  the  scuttle  and  peered 
into  a  dark,  dismal  place,  whose  very  existence 
was  new  to  him.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  vacant  space 
between  the  cargo  and  the  ship's  run.  This 
wooden  cavern  was  very  narrow,  but  not  less 
than  fifteen  feet  long.  "The  candle  was  at  the 
farther  end,  and  between  it  and  Hazel  a  man 
was  working,  with  his  flank  turned  towards  the 
spectator.  This  partly  intercepted  the  light; 
but  still  it  revealed  in  a  fitful  way  the  huge  ribs 
of  the  ship,  and  her  inner  skin,  that  formed  the 
right-hand  partition,  so  to  speak,  of  this  black 
cavern;  and  close  outside  those  gaunt  timbers 
was  heard  the  wash  of  the  sea. 

There  was  something  solemn  in  the  close  prox- 
imity of  that  tremendous  element  and  the  nar- 
rowness of  the  wooden  barrier. 

The  bare  place,  and  the  gentle,  monotonous 
wash  of  the  liquid  monster,  on  that  calm  night, 
conveyed  to  Mr.  Hazel's  mind  a  thought  akin 
to  David's. 

"As  the  Lord  liveth,  and  as  thy  soul  liveth, 
there  is  but  a  step  between  me  and  death." 

Judge  whether  that  thought  grew  weaker  or 
stronger,  when,  after  straining  his  eyes  for  some 
time,  to  understand  what  was  going  on  at  that 
midnight  hour,  in  that  hidden  place,  he  saw  who 
was  the  workman,  and  what  was  his  occupation. 

It  was  Joseph  Wylie,  the  mate.  His  profile 
was  illuminated  by  the  candle,  and  looked  ghast- 
ly. He  had  in  his  hands  an  auger  of  enormous 
size,  and  with  this  he  was  drilling  a  great  hole 
through  the  ship's  side,  just  below  the  water- 
mark ;  an  act,  the  effect  of  which  would  be  to 
let  the  sea  bodily  into  the  ship  and  sink  her, 
with  every  soul  on  board,  to  the  bottom  of  the 
Pacific  Ocean. 

"  I  was  stupefied ;  and  my  hairs  stood  on  end, 
and  my  tongue  clove  to  my  jaws." 

Thus  does  one  of  Virgil's  characters  describe 
the  effect  his  mind  produced  upon  his  body,  in 
a  terrible  situation. 

Mr.  Hazel  had  always  ridiculed  that  trite  line 
as  a  pure  exaggeration ;  but  he  altered  his  opin- 
ion after  that  eventful  night. 

When  he  first  saw  what  Wylie  was  doing, 
obstapuit,  he  was  merely  benumbed ;  but,  as  his 
mind  realized  the  fiendish  nature  of  the  act,  and  j 
its  tremendous  consequences,  his   hair  actually  j 
bristled,  and  for  a  few  minutes  at  least  he  could  ; 
not  utter  a  word. 

In  that  interval  of  stupor,  matters  took  anoth- 
er turn.  The  auger  went  in  up  to  the  haft ;  then 
Wylie  caught  up  with  his  left  hand  a  wooden 
plug  he  had  got  ready,  jerked  the  auger  away, 
caught  up  a  hammer,  and  swiftly  inserted  the 
plug.  1 


Rapid  as  he  was,  a  single  jet  of  water  came 
squirting  viciously  in.  But  Wylie  lost  no  time ; 
he  tapped  the  plug  smartly  with  his  hammer 
several  times,  and  then,  lifting  a  mallet  with  both 
hands,  rained  heavy  blows  on  it  that  drove  it  in, 
and  shook  the  ship's  side. 

Then  Hazel  found  his  voice,  and  he  uttered  an 
ejaculation  that  made  the  mate  look  round  ;  he 
glared  at  the  man  who  was  glaring  at  him,  and, 
staggering  backward,  trod  on  the  light,  and  all 
was  darkness  and  dead  silence. 

All  but  the  wash  of  the  sea  outside,  and  that 
louder  than  ever. 

But  a  short  interval  sufficed  to  restore  one  of 
the  parties  to  his  natural  self-possession. 

"Lord,  sir,"  said  Wylie,  "how  you  startled 
me !  You  should  not  come  upon  a  man  at  his 
work  like  that.  We  might  have  had  an  acci- 
dent." 

"What  were  you  doing?"  said  Hazel,  in  a 
voice  that  quavered  in  spite  of  him. 

"  Repairing  the  ship.  Found  a  crack  or  two 
in  her  inner  skin.  There,  let  me  get  a  light, 
and  I'll  explain  it  to  you,  sir." 

He  groped  his  way  out,  and  invited  Mr.  Ha- 
zel into  his  cabin.  There  he  struck  a  light, 
and,  with  great  civility,  tendered  an  explana- 
tion. The  ship,  he  said,  had  labored  a  good 
deal  in  the  last  gale,  and  he  had  discovered  one 
or  two  flaws  in  her,  which  were  of  no  immediate 
importance  ;  but  experience  had  taught  him  that 
in  calm  weather  a  ship  ought  to  be  kept  tight. 
"  As  they  say  ashore,  a  stitch  in  time  saves  nine." 

"  But  drilling  holes  in  her  is  not  the  way," 
said  Hazel,  sternly. 

The  mate  laughed.  "  Why,  sir,"  said  he, 
"  what  other  way  is  there  ?  We  can  not  stop 
an  irregular  crack  ;  we  can  frame  nothing  to  fit 
it.  The  way  is  to  get  ready  a  plug  measured  a 
trifle  larger  than  the  aperture  you  are  going  to 
make ;  then  drill  a  round  hole,  and  force  in  the 
plug.  I  know  no  other  way  than  that ;  and  I 
was  a  ship's  carpenter  for  ten  years  before  I  was 
a  mate." 

This  explanation,  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  given,  removed  Mr.  Hazel's  apprehensions 
for  the  time  being.  "It  was  very  alarming," 
said  he ;  "  but  I  suppose  you  know  your  busi- 
ness." 

"  Nobody  better,  sir,"  said  Wylie.  "  Why, 
it  is  not  one  seaman  in  three  that  would  trouble 
his  head  about  a  flaw  in  a  ship's  inner  skin  ; 
but  I'm  a  man  that  looks  ahead.  Will  you 
have  a  glass  of  grog,  sir,  now  you  are  here  ?  I 
keep  that  under  my  eye,  too  ;  between  ourselves, 
if  the  skipper  has  as  much  in  his  cabin  as  I  have 
here,  that  might  be  worse  for  us  all  than  a  crack 
or  two  in  the  ship's  inner  skin." 

Mr.  Hazel  declined  to  drink  grog  at  that  time 
in  the  morning,  but  wished  him  good-night,  and 
left  him  with  a  better  opinion  of  him  than  he 
had  ever  had  till  then. 

Wylie,  when  he  was  gone,  drew  a  tumbler  of 
neat  spirits,  drank  half,  and  carried  the  rest  back 
to  his  work. 

Yet  Wylie  was  a  very  sober  man  in  a  general 
way.     Rum  was  his  tool ;  not  his  master. 

When  Hazel  came  to  think  of  it  all  next  day, 
he  did  not  feel  quite  so  easy  as  he  had  done. 
The  inner  skin  !  But,  when  Wylie  withdrew 
his  auger,  the  water  had  squirted  in  furiously. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


31 


He  felt  it  hard  to  believe  that  this  keen  jet  of 
water  could  be  caused  by  a  small  quantity  that 
had  found  its  way  between  the  skin  of  the  ship 
and  her  copper,  or  her  top  booting ;  it  seemed 
rather  to  be  due  to  the  direct  pressure  of  the 
liquid  monster  outside. 

He  went  to  the  captain  that  afternoon,  and 
first  told  him  what  he  had  seen,  offering  no  so- 
lution. The  captain,  on  that  occasion,  was  in 
an  amphibious  state  ;  neither  wet  nor  dry ; 
and  his  reply  was  altogether  exceptional.  He 
received  the  communication  with  pompous  civil- 
ity ;  then  swore  a  great  oath,  and  said  he  would 
put  the  mate  in  irons:  "Confound  the  lubber! 
he  will  be  through  the  ship's  bottom." 

"But,  stop  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Hazel,"  it  is 
only  fair  you  should  also  hear  how  he  accounts 
for  his  proceeding." 

The  captain  listened  attentively  to  the  expla- 
nation, and  altered  his  tone.  ' '  Oh,  that  is  a  dif- 
ferent matter,"  said  he.  "You  need  be  under 
no  alarm,  sir  ;  the  thundering  lubber  knows  what 
he  is  about,  at  that  work.  Why,  he  has  been  a 
ship's  carpenter  all  his  life.  Him  a  seaman ! 
If  any  thing  ever  happens  to  me,  and  Joe  Wylie 
is  set  to  navigate  this  ship,  then  you  may  say 
your  prayers.  He  isn't  fit  to  sail  a  wash-tub 
across  a  duck-pond.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is, " 
added  this  worthy,  with  more  pomposity  than 
neatness  of  articulation,  '.'  here's  respeckable  pas- 
senger brought  me  a  report ;  do  my  duty  to  m' 
employers,  and — take  a  look  at  the  well." 

He  accordingly  chalked  a  plumb-line,  and 
went  and  sounded  the  well. 

There  were  eight  inches  of  water.  Hudson 
told  him  that  was  no  more  than  all  ships  contain- 
ed from  various  causes.  "  In  fact,"  said  he, 
"our  pumps  suck,  and  will  not  draw,  at  eight 
inches."  Then  suddenly  grasping  Mr.  Hazel's 
hand,  he  said,  in  tearful  accents,  "Don't  you 
trouble  your  head  about  Joe  Wylie,  or  any  other 
such  scum.  I'm  skipper  of  the  Proserpine,  and 
a  man  that  does  his  duty  to  'z  employers.  Mr. 
Hazel,  sir,  I'd  come  to  my  last  anchor  in  that 
well  this  moment,  if  my  duty  to  m'  employers  re- 
quired it.  B —  my  eyes  if  I  wouldn't  lie  down 
there  this  minute,  and  never  move  to  all  eternity 
and  a  day  after,  if  it  was  my  duty  to  m'  employ- 
ers !" 

"No  doubt,"  said  Hazel,  dryly.  "Bu<;I  think 
you  can  serve  your  employers  better  in  other 
parts  of  the  ship."  He  then  left  him,  with  a 
piece  of  advice ;  "to  keep  his  eyes  upon  that 
Wylie." 

Mr.  Hazel  kept  his  own  eye  on  Wylie  so  con- 
stantly, that  at  eleven  o'clock  p.m.  he  saw  that 
worthy  go  into  the  captain's  cabin  with  a  quart 
bottle  of  rum. 

The  coast  was  clear  :  the  temptation  great. 

These  men  then  were  still  deceiving  him  with 
a  feigned  antagonism.  He  listened  at  the  key- 
hole, not  without  some  compunction ;  which, 
however,  became  less  and  less  as  fragments  of 
the  dialogue  reached  his  ear. 

For  a  longtime  the  only  speaker  was  Hudson, 
and  his  discourse  ran  upon  his  own  exploits  at 
sea.  But  suddenly  Wylie's  voice  broke  in  with 
an  unmistakable  tone  of  superiority. 

"  Belay  all  that  chat,  and  listen  to  me.  It  is 
time  we  settled  something.  I'll  hear  what  you 
have  got  to  say  ;  and  then  you'll  do  what  I  say. 
Better  keep  your  hands  off  "the  bottle  a  minute  ; 


you  have  had  enough  for  the  present ;  this  \i 
business.  I  know  you  are  good  for  jaw ;  but 
what  are  you  game  to  do  for  the  governor'8 
money  ?     Any  thing  ?" 

"  More  than  you  have  ever  seen  or  heard  tel/ 
of,  ye  lubber,"  replied  the  irritated  skipper. 
"  Who  has  ever  served  his  employers  like  Hiram 
Hudson?" 

"Keep  that  song  for  your  quarter-deck,"  re- 
torted the  mate,  contemptuously.  "  No,  on  sec- 
ond thoughts,  just  tell  me  how  you  have  served 
your  employers,  you  old  humbug.  Give  me 
chapter  and  verse  to  choose  from.  Come  now, 
the  Neptune?" 

"Well,  the  Neptune  ;  she  caught  fire  a  hun- 
dred leagues  from  land." 

"  How  came  she  to  do  that  ?" 

"  That  is  my  business.  Well,  I  put  her  head 
before  the  wind,  and  ran  for  the  Azores ;  and 
I  stuck  to  her,  sir,  till  she  was  as  black  as  a 
coal,  and  we  couldn't  stand  on  deck,  but  kept 
hopping  like  parched  peas  ;  and  fire  belching 
out  of  her  port-holes  forward  :  then  we  took  to 
the  boats,  and  saved  a  few  bales  of  silk  by  way 
of  sample  of  her  cargo,  and  got  ashore  ;  and  she'd 
have  come  ashore  too  next  tide  and  told  tales, 
but  Somebody  left  a  keg  of  gunpowder  in  the 
cabin,  with  a  long  fuse,  and  blew  a  hole  in  her 
old  ribs,  that  the  water  came  in,  and  down  she 
went,  hissing  like  ten  thousand  sarpints,  and  no- 
body the  wiser." 

"Who  lighted  the  fuse,  I  wonder?"  said 
Wylie. 

"Didn't  I  tell  ye  it  was  'Somebody?'"  said 
Hudson.  "  Hand  me  the  stiff."  He  replenish- 
ed his  glass,  and,  after  taking  a  sip  or  two,  asked 
Wylie  if  he  had  ever  had  the  luck  to  be  board- 
ed by  pirates. 

"No,"  said  Wylie.     "Have  you?" 

"  Ay ;  and  they  rescued  me  from  a  watery 
grave,  as  the  lubbers  call  it.  Ye  see,  I  was 
employed  by  Downes  and  Co.,  down  at  the  Ha- 
vana, and  cleared  for  Vera  Cruz  with  some  box- 
es of  old  worn-out  printer's  type." 

"To  print  psalm-books  for  the  darkies,  no 
doubt,"  suggested  Wylie. 

"Insured  as  specie,"  continued  Hudson,  ig- 
noring the  interruption.  "  Well,  just  at  day- 
break one  morning,  all  of  a  sudden  there  was  a 
rakish-looking  craft  on  our  weather-bow:  lets  fly 
a  nine-pounder  across  our  forefoot,  and  was 
alongside  before  my  men  could  tumble  up  from 
below.  I  got  knocked  into  the  sea  by  the  boom 
and  fell  between  the  ships;  and  the  pirate  he 
got  hold  of  me  and  poured  hot  grog  down  my 
throat  to  bring  me  to  my  senses." 

"  That  is  not  what  you  use  it  for  in  general," 
said  Wylie.      "  Civil  sort  of  pirate,  though." 

"Pirate  be  d — d.  That  was  my  consort  rig- 
ged out  with  a  black  flag,  and  mounted  with 
four  nine-pounders  on  one  side,  and  five  dum- 
mies on  the  other.  He  blustered  a  bit,  and  swore, 
and  took  our  type  and  our  cabbages  (I  complain- 
ed to  Downes  ashore  about  the  vagabond  taking 
the  vegetables),  and  ordered  us  to  leeward  under 
all  canvas,  and  we  never  saw  him  again, — not 
till  he  had  shaved  off  his  mustaches,  and  called 
on  Downes  to  condole  and  say  the  varmint  had 
chased  his  ship  fifty  leagues  out  of  her  course  ; 
but  he  had  got  clear  of  him.  Downes  compli- 
mented me  publicly.  Says  he,  'This  skipper 
boarded  the  pirate  single-handed  ;  only  he  jump- 


32 


FOUL  PLAY. 


ed  short,  and  fell  between  the  two  ships ;  and 
here  he  is  by  a  miracle.'  Then  he  takes  out  his 
handkerchief,  and  flops  his  head  on  my  shoulder. 
'  His  merciful  preservation  almost  reconciles  me 
to  the  loss  of  my  gold, '  says  the  thundering  croc- 
odile. Cleared  $70,000,  he  did,  out  of  the  Man- 
hattan Marine,  and  gave  the  pirate  and  me  but 
£200  between  us  both." 

"The  Rose?"  said  Wylie. 

**  What  a  hurry  you  are  in  !  Pass  the  grog. 
"Well,  the  Rose ;  she  lay  off  Ushant.  We  cant- 
ed her  to  wash  the  decks  ;  lucky  she  had  a  care- 
ful commander ;  not  like  Kempenfelt,  whose  eye 
was  in  his  pocket,  and  his  fingers  held  the  pen, 
so  he  went  to  the  bottom,  with  Lord  knows  how 
many  men.  I  noticed  the  squalls  came  very 
sudden  ;  so  I  sent  most  of  my  men  ashore,  and 
got  the  boats  ready  in  case  of  accident.  A  squall 
did  strike  her,  and  she  was  on  her  beam-ends  in 
a  moment :  we  pulled  ashore  with  two  bales  of 
silk  by  way  of  salvage,  and  sample  of  what  warn't 
in  her  hold  when  she  settled  down.  We  landed, 
and  the  Frenchmen  were  dancing'  about  with  ex- 
citement. '  Captain,'  says  one,  'you  have  much 
sang  fraw.'  '  Insured,  munseer,'  says  I.  '  Bone, ' 
says  he. 

"  Then  there  was  the  Antelope,  lost  in  charge 
of  a  pilot  off  the  Hooghly.  I  knew  the  water  as 
well  as  he  did.  We  were  on  the  port  tack,  stand- 
ing towards  the  shoal.  Weather  it,  as  we  should 
have  done  next  tack,  and  I  should  have  failed  in 
my  duty  to  my  employers.  Any  thing  but  that ! 
'  Look  out!'  said  I.  'Pilot,  she  forereaches  in 
sfays.'  Pilot  was  smoking ;  those  sand-head  pi- 
lots smoke  in  bed  and  asleep.  He  takes  his  ci- 
gar out  of  his  mouth  for  one  moment.  '  Ready 
about,' says  he.  'Hands 'bout  ship.  Helms  a-lee. 
Raise  tacks  and  sheets.'  Round  she  was  coming 
like  a  top.  Pilot  smoking.  Just  as  he  was  going 
to  haul  the  mainsel  Somebody  tripped  against 
him,  and  shoved  the  hot  cigar  in  his  eye.  He 
sung  out  and  swore,  and  there  was  no  mainsel 
haul.  Ship  in  irons,  tide  running  hard  on  to  the 
shoal,  and  before  we  could  clear  away  for  anchor- 
ing, bump  ! — there  she  was  hard  and  fast.  A 
sriff  breeze  got  up  at  sunrise,  and  she  broke  up. 
Next  day  I  was  sipping  my  grog  and  reading  the 
Bengal  Courier,  and  it  told  the  disastrous  wreck 
of  the  brig  Antelope,  wrecked  in  charge  of  a  pi- 
lot :  '  but  no  lives  lost,  and  the  owners  fully  in- 
sured.' Then  there  was  the  bark  Sally.  Why, 
you  saw  her  yourself  distressed  on  a  lee  shore." 

"  Yes,"  said  Wylie.  "  I  was  in  that  tub,  the 
Grampus,  and  we  contrived  to  claw  off  the  Scil- 
lies;  yet  you,  in  your  smart  Sally,  got  ashore. 
What  luck  !" 

"Luck  be  blowed  !"  cried  Hudson,  angrily. 
"  Somebody  got  into  the  chains  to  sound  ;  and 
cut  the  weather  halyards.  Next  tack  the  masts 
went  over  the  side  ;  and  I  had  done  my  duty." 

"  Lives  were  lost  that  time,  eh  ?"  said  Wylie, 
gravely. 

"  What  is  that  to  you  ?"  replied  Hudson,  with 
the  sudden  ire  of  a  drunken  man.  "  Mind  your 
own  business.     Pass  me  the  bottle." 

"  Yes,  lives  was  lost :  and  always  will  be  lost 
in  sea-going  ships,  where  the  skipper  does  his 
duty.  There  was  a  sight  more  lost  at  Trafalgar, 
owing  to  every  man  doing  his  duty.  Lives  lost, 
ye  lubber  ?  And  why  not  mine  ?  Because  their 
time  was  come,  and  mine  wasn't.     For  I'll  tell 


you  one  thing,  Joe  Wylie, — if  she  takes  fire  and 
runs  before  the  wind  till  she  is  as  black  as  a  coal, 
and  belching  flame  through  all  her  port-holes, 
and  then  explodes,  and  goes  aloft  in  ten  thou- 
sand pieces  no  bigger  than  my  hat,  or  your  knowl- 
edge of  navigation,  Hudson  is  the  last  man  to 
leave  her :  Duty  ! — If  she  goes  on  her  beam-ends 
and  founders,  Hudson  sees  the  last  of  her,  and 
reports  it  to  his  employers:  Duty  ! — If  she  goes 
grinding  on  Scilly,  Hudson  is  the  last  man  to 
leave  her  bones :  Duty  ! — Some  day  perhaps  I 
shall  be  swamped  myself  along  with  the  craft : 
I  have  escaped  till  now,  owing  to  not  being  in- 
sured; but  if  ever  my  time  should  come,  and  you 
should  get  clear,  promise  me,  Joe,  to  see  the 
owners,  and  tell  'em  Hudson  did  his  duty." 

Here  a  few  tears  quenched  his  noble  ardor  for 
a  moment.  But  he  soon  recovered,  and  said 
with  some  little  heat,  "  You  have  got  the  bottle 
again.  I  never  saw  such  a  fellow  to  get  hold  of 
the  bottle.  Come,  here's  '  Duty  to  our  employ- 
ers!' And  now  I'll  tell  you  how  we  managed 
with  the  Carysbrook  and  the  Amelia." 

This  promise  was  followed  by  fresh  narratives ; 
in  particular,  of  a  vessel  he  had  run  upon  the 
Florida  reef  at  night,  where  wreckers  had  been 
retained  in  advance  to  look  out  for  signals,  and 
come  on  board  and  quarrel  on  pretense  and  set 
fire  to  the  vessel,  insured  at  thrice  her  value. 

Hudson  got  quite  excited  with  the  memory 
of  these  exploits,  and  told  each  successive  feat 
louder  and  louder. 

But  now  it  was  Wylie's  turn.  "Well,"  said 
he,  very  gravely,  "  all  this  was  child's  play." 

There  was  a  pause  that  marked  Hudson's  as- 
tonishment. Then  he  broke  out,  "Child's play, 
ye  lubber !  If  you  had  been  there  your  gills 
would  have  been  as  white  as  your  Sunday  shirt ; 
and  a  d — d  deal  whiter." 

"  Come,  be  civil,"  said  Wylie  ;  "  I  tell  you,  all 
the  ways  you  have  told  me  are  too  suspicious. 
Our  governor  is  a  high-flier:  he  pays  like  a 
prince,  and,  in  return,  he  must  not  be  blown  on, 
if  it  is  ever  so  little.  '  Wylie,'  says  he,  '  a  breath 
of  suspicion  would  kill  me.'  '  Make  it  so  much,' 
says  I,  '  and  that  breath  shall  never  blow  on  you.' 
No,  no,  skipper ;  none  of  those  ways  will  do  for 
us  ;  they  have  all  been  worked  twice  too  often. 
It  must  be  done  in  fair  weather,  and  in  a  way — 
Fill  your  glass  and  I'll  fill  mine —  Capital  rum 
this.  You  talk  of  my  gills  turning  white ;  before 
long  we  shall  see  whose  keeps  their  color  best, 
mine  or  yours,  my  boy." 

There  was  a  silence,  during  which  Hudson  was 
probably  asking  himself  what  Wylie  meant ;  for 
presently  he  broke  out  in  a  loud,  but  somewhat 
quivering  voice :  Why,  you  mad,  drunken  dev- 
il of  a  ship's  carpenter,  red-hot  from  hell,  I  see 
what  you  are  at,  now ;  you  are  going — " 

"  Hush  !"  cried  Wylie,  alarmed  in  his  turn. 
"Is  this  the  sort  of  thing  to  bellow  out  for  the 
watch  to  hear?    Whisper,  now." 

This  was  followed  by  the  earnest  mutterings 
of  two  voices.  In  vain  did  the  listener  send  his 
very  soul  into  his  ear  to  hear.  He  could  catch 
no  single  word.  Yet  he  could  tell,  by  the  very 
tones  of  the  speakers,  that  the  dialogue  was  one 
of  mystery  and  importance. 

Here  was  a  situation  at  once  irritating  and 
alarming ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  The 
best  thing,  now,  seemed  to  be  to  withdraw  unob- 
served, and  wait  for  another  opportunity.     He 


FOUL  PLAY. 


33 


did  so ;  and  he  had  not  long  retired,  when  the 
mate  came  out  staggering,  and  flushed  with  liq- 
uor, and  that  was  a  thing  that  had  never  oc- 
curred before.  He  left  the  cabin  door  open,  and 
went  into  his  own  room. 

Soon  after  sounds  issued  from  the  cabin, — pe- 
culiar sounds,  something  between  grunting  and 
snoring. 

Mr.  Hazel  came  and  entered  the  cabin. 
There  he  found  the  captain  of  the  Proserpine  in 
a  position  very  unfavorable  to  longevity.  His 
legs  were  crooked  over  the  seat  of  his  chair,  and 
his  head  was  on  the  ground.  His  handkerchief 
was  tight  round  his  neck,  and  the  man  himself 
dead  drunk,  and  purple  in  the  face. 

Mr.  Hazel  instantly  undid  his  stock,  on  which 
the  gallant  seaman  muttered  inarticulately.  He 
then  took  his  feet  off  the  chair,  and  laid  them  on 
the  ground,  and  put  the  empty  bottle  under  the 
animal's  neck. 

But  he  had  no  sooner  done  all  this,  than  he 
had  a  serious  misgiving.  Would  not  this  man's 
death  have  been  a  blessing?  Might  not  his  life 
prove  fatal? 

The  thought  infuriated  him,  and  he  gave  the 
prostrate  figure  a  heavy  kick  that  almost  turned 
it  over,  and  the  words,  "Duty  to  employers," 
gurgled  out  of  its  mouth  directly. 

It  really  seemed  as  if  these  sounds  were  inde- 
pendent of  the  mind,  and  resided  at  the  tip  of 
Hudson's  tongue  :  so  that  a  thorough  good  kick 
could,  at  any  time,  shake  them  out  of  his  inani- 
mate body. 

Thus  do  things  ludicrous  and  things  terrible 
mingle  in  the  real  world  ;  only  to  those  who  are 
in  the  arena,  the  ludicrous  passes  unnoticed,  be- 
ing overshadowed  by  its  terrible  neighbor. 

And  so  it  was  with  Hazel.  He  saw  nothing 
absurd  in  all  this  ;  and  in  that  prostrate,  insen- 
sible hog,  commanding  the  ship,  forsooth,  and 
carrying  all  their  lives  in  his  hands,  he  saw  the 
mysterious  and  alarming  only,  saw  them  so,  and 
felt  them,  that  he  lay  awake  all  night  thinking 
what  he  should  do,  and  early  next  day  he  went 
into  the  mate's  cabin,  and  said  to  him  :  "Mr. 
Wylie,  in  any  other  ship  I  should  speak  to  the 
captain,  and  not  to  the  mate ;  but  here  that 
would  be  no  use,  for  you  are  the  master,  and  he 
is  your  servant." 

"Don't  tell  him  so,  sir,  for  he  doesn't  think 
small  beer  of  himself. " 

"  I  shall  waste  no  more  words  on  him.  It  is 
to  you  I  speak,  and  you  know  I  speak  the  truth. 
Here  is  a  ship,  in  which,  for  certain  reasons 
known  to  yourself,  the  captain  is  under  the 
mate." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Wylie,  good  -  humoredly, 
"it  is  no  use  trying  to  deceive  a  gentleman  like 
you.  Our  skipper  is  an  excellent  seaman,  but 
he  has  got  a  fault."  Then  Wylie  imitated,  with 
his  hand,  the  action  of  a  person  filling  his 
glass. 

"And  you  are  here  to  keep  him  sober,  eh  ?" 

Wylie  nodded. 

"  Then  why  do  you  ply  him  with  liquor?" 

"  I  don't,  sir." 

"You  do.  I  have  seen  you  do  it  a  dozen 
times :  and  last  night  you  took  rum  into  his 
room,  and  made  him  so  drunk,  he  would  have 
died  where  he  lay  if  I  had  not  loosened  his  hand- 
kerchief." 

' '  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,  sir ;  but  he  was  so- 
3 


ber  when  I  left  him.     The  fool  must  have  got 
to  the  bottle  the  moment  I  was  gone." 

"  But  that  bottle  you  put  in  his  way ;  I  saw 
you  :  and  what  was  your  object  ?  To  deaden 
his  conscience  with  liquor,  his  and  your  own, 
while  you  made  him  your  fiendish  proposal. 
Man,  man,  do  you  believe  in  God,  and  in  a  judg- 
ment to  come  for  the  deeds  done  in  the  body, 
that  you  can  plan  in  cold  blood  to  destroy  a  ves- 
sel with  nineteen  souls  on  board,  besides  the  live 
stock,  the  innocent  animals  that  God  pitied  and 
spared  when  he  raised  his  hand  in  wrath  over 
Nineveh  of  old  ?" 

While  the  clergyman  was  speaking,  witn  flash- 
ing eyes  and  commanding  voice,  the  seaman 
turned  ashy  pale,  and  drew  his  shoulders  togeth- 
er like  a  cat  preparing  to  defend  her  life. 

"  I  plan  to  destroy  a  vessel,  sir !  You  never 
heard  me  say  such  a  word ;  and  don't  you  hint 
such  a  thing  in  the  ship,  or  you  will  get  yourself 
into  trouble." 

"  That  depends  on  you." 
"How  so,  sir?" 
"I  have  long  suspected  you." 
"  You  need  not  tell  me  that,  sir." 
"But  I  have  not  communicated  my  suspicions. 
And  now  that  they  are  certainties,  I  come  first 
to  you.     In  one  word,  will  you  forego  your  in- 
tention, since  it  is  found  out  ?" 

"How  can  I  forego  what  never  was  in  my 
head?"  said  Wylie.  "Cast  away  the  ship*! 
Why,  there's  no  land  within  two  thousand  miles. 
Founder  a  vessel  in  the  Pacific !  Do  you  think 
my  life  is  not  as  sweet  to  me  as  yours  is  to  you  ?" 
Wylie  eyed  him  keenly  to  see  the  effect  of  these 
words,  and,  by  a  puzzled  expression  that  came 
over  his  face,  saw  at  once  he  had  assumed  a 
more  exact  knowledge  than  he  really  possessed. 
Hazel  replied  that  he  had  said  nothing  about 
foundering  the  ship  ;  but  there  were  many  ways 
of  destroying  one.  "For  instance,"  said  he,  "I 
know  how  the  Neptune  was  destroyed, — and  so 
do  you :  how  the  Rose  and  the  Antelope  were 
cast  away, — and  so  do  you." 

At  this  enumeration,  Wylie  lost  his  color  and 
self-possession  for  a  moment ;  he  saw  Hazel  had 
been  listening.  Hazel  followed  up  his  blow. 
"Promise  me  now,  by  all  you  hold  sacred,  to 
forego  this  villainy,  and  I  hold  my  tongue.  At- 
tempt to  defy  me,  or  to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes, 
and  I  go  instantly  among  the  crew,  and  denounce 
both  you  and  Hudson  to  them." 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Wylie,  in  unfeigned 
terror.  "Why,  the  men  would  mutiny  on  the 
spot." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  Hazel  firmly;  and 
took  a  step  towards  the  door. 

"Stop  a  bit, "  said  the  mate.  "Don't  be  in  such 
a  nation  hurry  :  for,  if  you  do,  it  will  be  bad  for 
me,  but  worse  for  you."  The  above  was  said  so 
gravely,  and  with  such  evident  sincerity,  that 
Mr.  Hazel  was  struck,  and  showed  it.  Wylie 
followed  up  that  trifling  advantage.  "  Sit  down 
a  minute,  sir,  if  you  please,  and  listen  to  me. 
You  never  saw  a  mutiny  on  board  ship,  I'll  be 
bound.  It  is  a  worse  thing  than  any  gale  that 
ever  blew  :  begins  fair  enough,  sometimes ;  but 
how  does  it  end  ?  In  breaking  into  the  spirit- 
room,  and  drinking  to  madness,  plundering  the 
ship,  ravishing  the  women,  and  cutting  a  throat 
or  so  for  certain.  You  don't  seem  so  fond  of  the 
picture  as  you  was  of  the  idea.     And  then  they 


34 


FOUL  PLAY. 


might  turn  a  deaf  cav  to  you  after  all.  Ship  is 
well  found  in  all  stores;  provisions  served  out 
freely ;  men  in  good  humor ;  and  I  have  got 
their  ear.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  why  it  won't 
suit  your  little  game  to  blacken  me  to  the  crew, 
upon  the  bare  chance  of  a  mutiny."  He  paused 
for  a  moment,  then  resumed  in  a  lower  tone,  and 
revealed  himself  the  extrordinary  man  he  was. 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  he,  "  when  a  man  is  very 
ready  to  suspect  me,  I  always  suspect  him.  Now 
you  was  uncommon  ready  to  suspect  me.  You 
didn't  wait  till  you  came  on  board  ;  you  began 
the  game  ashore.  Oh,  what,  that  makes  you 
open  one  eye,  does  it?  You  thought  I  didn't 
know  you  again.  Knew  you,  my  man,  the  mo- 
ment you  came  aboard.  I  never  forget  a  face  ; 
and  disguises  don't  pass  on  me." 

It  was  now  Hazel's  turn  to  look  anxious  and 
discomposed. 

"So,  then,  the  moment  I  saw  you  suspected 
me  I  was  down  upon  you.  Well,  you  come  aboard 
under  false  colors.  We  didn't  want  a  chap  like 
you  in  the  ship  ;  but  you  would  come.  '  What 
is  the  bloke  after?'  says  I,  and  watches.  You 
was  so  intent  suspecting  me  of  this,  that,  and 
t'other,  that  you  unguarded  yourself,  and  that  is 
common  too.  Pm  blowed  if  it  isn't  the  lady  you 
are  after.  With  all  my  heart:  only  she  might 
do  better,  and  I  don't  see  how  she  could  do  worse, 
unless  she  went  to  Old  Nick  for  a  mate.  Now, 
Pll  tell  you  what  it  is,  my  man.  I've  been  in 
trouble  myself,  and  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  a 
poor  devil,  just  because  he  sails  under  an  alias, 
and  lies  as  near  the  wind  as  he  can,  to  weather 
on  the  beaks  and  the  bobbies.  But  one  good  turn 
deserves  another:  keep  your  dirty  suspicions  to 
yourself;  for  if  you  dare  to  open  your  lips  to  the 
men,  in  five  minutes,  or  less  than  that,  you  shall 
be  in  irons,  and  confined  to  your  cabin ;  and 
we'll  put  you  ashore  at  the  first  port  that  flies  the 
British  flag,  and  hand  you  over  to  the  authorities, 
till  one  of  her  Majesty's  cruisers  sends  in  a  boat 
for  you." 

At  this  threat  Mr.  Hazel  hung  his  head  in  con- 
fusion and  dismay. 

"  Come,  get  out  of  my  cabin,  Parson  Alias," 
shouted  the  mate  ;  "and  belay  your  foul  tongue 
in  this  ship,  and  don't  make  an  enemy  of  Joe 
Wylie,  a  man  that  will  eat  you  up  else,  and  spit 
you  out  again,  and  never  brag.  Sheer  off,  I  say, 
and  be  d — d  to  you." 

Mr.  Hazel,  with  a  pale  face  and  sick  heart, 
looked  aghast  at  this  dangerous  man,  who  could 
be  fox  or  tiger,  as  the  occasion  demanded. 

Surprised,  alarmed,  outwitted,  and  out-men- 
aced, he  retired  with  disordered  countenance  and 
uneven  steps,  and  hid  himself  in  his  own  cabin. 

The  more  he  weighed  the  whole  situation,  the 
more  clearly  did  he  see  that  he  was  utterly  pow- 
erless in  the  hands  of  Wylie. 

A  skipper  is  an  emperor ;  and  Hudson  had 
the  power  to  iron  him,  and  set  him  on  shore  at 
the  nearest  port.  The  right  to  do  it  was  anoth- 
er matter ;  but  even  on  that  head  Wylie  could 
furnish  a  plausible  excuse  for  the  act.  Retribu- 
tion, if  it  came  at  all,  would  not  be  severe,  and 
would  be  three  or  four  years  coming  :  and  who 
fears  it  much,  when  it  is  so  dilatory,  and  so 
weak,  and  so  doubtful  into  the  bargain  ? 

He  succumbed  in  silence  for  two  days  ;  and 
then,  in  spite  of  Wylie's  threat,  he  made  one 
timid   attempt   to  approach    the  subject   with 


Welch  and  Cooper,  but  a  sailor  came  up  instant- 
ly, and  sent  them  forward  to  reef  topsails.  And, 
whenever  he  tried  to  enter  into  conversation  with 
the  pair,  some  sailor  or  other  was  sure  to  come 
up  and  listen. 

Then  he  saw  that  he  Avas  spotted ;  or,  as  we 
say  nowadays,  picketed. 

He  was  at  his  wits'  end. 

He  tried  his  last  throw.  He  wrote  a  few 
lines  to  Miss  Rolleston,  requesting  an  interview. 
Aware  of  the  difficulties  he  had  to  encounter 
here,  he  stilled  his  heart  by  main  force,  and  wrote 
in  terms  carefully  measured.  He  begged  her  to 
believe  he  had  no  design  to  intrude  upon  her, 
without  absolute  necessity,  and  for  her  own  good. 
Respect  for  her  own  wishes  forbade  this,  and 
also  his  self-respect. 

"  But,"  said  he,  "I  have  made  a  terrible  dis- 
covery. The  mate  and  the  captain  certainly  in- 
tend to  cast  away  this  ship.  No  doubt  they  will 
try  and  not  sacrifice  their  own  lives  and  ours ; 
but  risk  them  they  must,  in  the  very  nature  of 
things.  Before  troubling  you,  I  have  tried  all  I 
could,  in  the  way  of  persuasion  and  menace ; 
but  am  defeated.  So  now  it  rests  with  you. 
You,  alone,  can  save  us  all.  I  will  tell  you  how, 
if  you  will  restrain  your  repugnance,  and  accord 
me  a  short  interview.  Need  I  say  that  no  other 
subject  shall  be  introduced  by  me  ?  In  England, 
should  we  ever  reach  it,  I  may  perhaps  try  to 
take  measures  to  regain  your  good  opinion  ;  but 
here,  I  am  aware,  that  is  impossible ;  and  I  shall 
make  no  attempt  in  that  direction,  upon  my 
honor." 

To  this  came  a  prompt  and  feminine  reply : — 

"  The  ship  is  his.  The  captain  and  mate  are 
able  men,  appointed  by  him.  Your  suspicions 
of  these  poor  men  are  calumnies,  and  of  a  piece 
with  your  other  monstrous  slanders. 

"  I  really  must  insist  on  your  holding  no  fur- 
ther communications  of  any  sort  with  one  to 
whom  your  character  is  revealed  and  odious. 

"H.K." 

This  letter  benumbed  his  heart  at  first.  A 
letter  ?  It  was  a  blow ;  a  blow  from  her  he 
loved,  and  she  hated  him ! 

His  long-suffering  love  gave  way  at  last.  What 
folly  and  cruelty  combined  !  He  could  no  long- 
er make  allowances  for  the  spite  of  a  woman 
whose  lover  had  been  traduced.  Rage  and  de- 
spair seized  him ;  he  bit  his  nails,  and  tore  his 
hair  with  fury ;  and  prayed  Heaven  to  help  him 
hate  her  as  she  deserved,  "  the  blind,  insolent 
idiot!"  Yes,  these  bitter  words  actually  came 
out  of  his  mouth,  in  a  torrent  of  fury. 

But  to  note  down  all  he  said  in  his  rage, 
would  be  useless ;  and  might  mislead,  for  this 
was  a  gust  of  fury ;  and,  while  it  lasted,  the  long- 
suffering  man  was  no  longer  himself. 

As  a  proof  how  little  this  state  of  mind  was 
natural  to  him,  it  stirred  up  all  the  bile  in  his 
body,  and  brought  on  a  severe  attack  of  yellow 
jaundice,  accompanied  by  the  settled  dejection 
that  marks  that  disorder. 

Meantime  the  Proserpine  glided  on,  with  a 
fair  wind,  and  a  contented  crew.  She  was  well 
found  in  stores ;  and  they  were  served  out  un- 
grudgingly. 

Every  face  on  board  beamed  with  jollity,  ex- 
cept poor  Hazel's.  He  crept  about,  yellow  as  a 
guinea  ;  a  very  scarecrow. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


85 


The  surgeon,  a  humane  man,  urged  him  to 
drink  sherry,  and  take  strong  exercise. 

But  persons  afflicted  with  that  distressing  mal- 
ady are  obstinately  set  against  those  things  which 
tend  to  cure  it ;  this  is  a  feature  of  the  disease. 
Mr.  Hazel  was  no  exception.  And  then  his 
heart  had  received  so  many  blows,  it  had  no  pow- 
er left  to  resist  the  depressing  effect  of  his  disor- 
der. He  took  no  exercise  ;  he  ate  little  food.  He 
lay,  listless  and  dejected,  about  the  deck,  and  let 
disease  do  what  it  pleased  with  him. 

The  surgeon  shook  his  head,  and  told  Hudson 
the  parson  was  booked. 

"And  good  riddance  of  bad  rubbish!"  was 
that  worthy's  gracious  comment. 

The  ship  now  encountered  an  adverse  gale, 
and,  for  three  whole  days,  was  under  close-reef- 
ed topsails;  she  was  always  a  wet  ship  under 
stress  of  weather ;  and  she  took  in  a  good  deal 
of  water  on  this  occasion.  On  the  fourth  day  it 
fell  calm,  and  Captain  Hudson,  having  examin- 
ed the  well,  and  found  three  feet  of  water,  order- 
ed the  men  to  the  pumps. 

After  working  through  one  watch,  the  well 
was  sounded  again,  and  the  water  was  so  much 
reduced  that  the  gangs  were  taken  off ;  and  the 
ship  being  now  becalmed,  and  the  weather  love- 
ly, the  men  were  allowed  to  dance  upon  deck  to 
the  boatswain's  fiddle. 

While  this  pastime  went  on,  the  sun,  large  and 
red,  reached  the  horizon,  and  diffused  a  roseate 
light  over  the  entire  ocean. 

Not  one  of  the  current  descriptions  of  heaven 
approached  the  actual  grandeur  and  beauty  of 
the  blue  sky,  flecked  with  ruby  and  gold,  and  its 
liquid  mirror  that  lay  below,  calm,  dimpled,  and 
glorified  by  that  translucent,  rosy  tint. 

While  the  eye  was  yet  charmed  with  this  en- 
chanting bridal  of  the  sea  and  sky,  and  the  ear 
amused  with  the  merry  fiddle  and  the  nimble 
feet,  that  tapped  the  sounding  deck  so  deftly  at 
every  note,  Cooper,  who  had  been  sounding  the 
well,  ran  forward  all  of  a  sudden,  and  flung  a 
thunderbolt  in  the  midst. 

"  A  LEAK  !" 


CHAPTER  X. 


The  fiddle  ended  in  mid-tune,  and  the  men 
crowded  aft  with  anxious  faces. 

The  captain  sounded  the  well,  and  found  three 
feet  and  a  half  water  in  it.  He  ordered  all  hands 
to  the  pumps. 

They  turned  to  with  a  good  heart,  and  pump- 
ed, watch  and  watch,  till  daybreak. 

Their  exertions  counteracted  the  leak,  but  did 
no  more  ;  the  water  in  the  well  was  neither  more 
nor  less,  perceptibly. 

This  was  a  relief  to  their  minds,  so  far ;  but 
the  situation  was  a  very  serious  one.  Suppose 
foul  weather  should  come,  and  the  vessel  ship 
water  from  above  as  well ! 

Now  all  those  who  were  not  on  the  pumps  set 
to  work  to  find  out  the  leak  and  stop  it  if  possi- 
ble. With  candles  in  their  hands,  they  crept 
about  the  ribs  of  the  ship,  narrowly  inspecting 
every  corner,  and  applying  their  ears  to  every 
suspected  place,  if  haply  they  might  hear  the 
water  coming  in.  The  place  where  Hazel  had 
found  Wylie  at  work  was  examined,  along  with 
the  rest;  but  neither  there  nor  anywhere  else 


could  the  leak  be  discovered.  Yet  the  water  was 
still  coming  in,  and  required  unremitting  labor 
to  keep  it  under.  It  was  then  suggested  by 
Wylie,  and  the  opinion  gradually  gained  ground, 
that  some  of  the  seams  had  opened  in  the  late 
gale,  and  were  letting  in  the  water  by  small  but 
numerous  apertures. 

Faces  began  to  look  cloudy ;  and  Hazel,  throw- 
ing  off  his  lethargy,  took  his  spell  at  the  main 
pump  with  the  rest. 

When  his  gang  was  relieved  he  went  away, 
bathed  in  perspiration,  and,  leaning  over  the 
well,  sounded  it. 

While  thus  employed,  the  mate  came  behind 
him,  with  his  cat-like  step,  and  said,  "  See  what 
has  come  on  us  by  your  forebodings !  It  is  the 
unluckiest  thing  in  the  world  to  talk  about  los- 
ing a  ship  when  she  is  at  sea." 

"You  are  a  more  dangerous  man  on  board  a 
ship  than  I  am,"  was  Hazel's  prompt  reply. 
The  well  gave  an  increase  of  three  inches. 
Mr.  Hazel  now  showed  excellent  qualities. 
He  worked  like  a  horse ;  and,  finding  the  mate 
skulking,  he  reproached  him  before  the  men, 
and,  stripping  himself  naked  to  the  waist,  invited 
him  to  do  a  man's  duty.  The  mate  thus  chal- 
lenged, complied  with  a  scowl. 

They  labored  for  their  lives,  and  the  quantity 
of  water  they  discharged  from  the  ship  was  as- 
tonishing ;  not  less  than  a  hundred  and  ten  tons 
every  hour. 

They  gained  upon  the  leak — only  two  inches, 
but,  in  the  struggle  for  life,  this  was  an  immense 
victory.     It  was  the  turn  of  the  tide. 

A  slight  breeze  sprung  up  from  the  south-west, 
and  the  captain  ordered  the  men  from  the  buck- 
ets to  make  all  sail  on  the  ship,  the  pumps  still 
going. 

When  this  was  done,  he  altered  the  ship's 
course,  and  put  her  right  before  the  wind,  steer- 
ing for  the  island  of  Juan  Fernandez,  distant 
eleven  hundred  miles  or  thereabouts. 

Probably  it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do,  in 
that  awful  waste  of  water.  But  its  effect  on  the 
seamen  was  bad.  It  was  like  giving  in.  They  got 
a  little  disheartened  and  flurried  ;  and  the  cold, 
passionless  water  seized  the  advantage.  It  is 
possible,  too,  that  the  motion  of  the  ship  through 
the  sea  aided  the  leak. 

The  Proserpine  glided  through  the  water  all 
night,  like  some  terror-stricken  creature,  and  the 
incessant  pumps  seemed  to  be  her  poor  heart, 
beating  loud  with  breathless  fear. 

At  daybreak  she  had  gone  a  hundred  and 
twenty  miles.  But  this  was  balanced  by  a  new 
and  alarming  feature.  The  water  from  the  pumps 
no  longer  came  up  pure,  but  mixed  with  what 
appeared  to  be  blood. 

This  got  redder  and  redder,  and  struck  terror 
into  the  more  superstitious  of  the  crew. 

Even  Cooper,  whose  heart  was  stout,  leaned 
over  the  bulwarks,  and  eyed  the  red  stream, 
gushing  into  the  sea  from  the  lee  scuppers,  and 
said  aloud,  "  Ay,  bleed  to  death,  ye  bitch.  We 
sha'n't  be  long  behind  ye." 

Hazel  inquired,  and  found  the  ship  had  a 
quantity  of  dye-wood  among  her  cargo :  he  told 
the  men  this,  and  tried  to  keep  up  their  hearts 
by  his  words  and  his  example. 

He  succeeded  with  some;  but  others  shook 
their  heads.  And  by-and-by  even  while  he  was 
working  double  tides  for  them  as  well  as  for  him- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


self,  ominous  murmurs  met  his  ear.  "Parson 
aboard!"  "Man  aboard  with  t'other  world  in 
his  face!"  And  there  were  sinister  glances  to 
match. 

He  told  this  with  some  alarm  to  Welch  and 
Cooper.  They  promised  to  stand  by  him  ;  and 
Welch  told  him  it  was  all  the  mate's  doings  ;  he 
had  gone  among  the  men  and  poisoned  them. 

The  wounded  vessel,  with  her  ever-beating 
heart,  had  run  three  hundred  miles  on  the  new 
track.  She  had  almost  ceased  to  bleed;  but 
what  was  as  bad,  or  worse,  small  fragments  of 
her  cargo  and  stores  came  up  with  the  water,  and 
their  miscellaneous  character  showed  how  deep- 
ly the  sea  had  now  penetrated. 

This,  and  their  great  fatigue,  began  to  demor- 
alize the  sailors.  The  pumps  and  buckets  were 
still  plied,  but  it  was  no  longer  with  the  uniform 
manner  of  brave  and  hopeful  men.  Some  stuck 
doggedly  to  their  work,  but  others  got  flurried, 
and  ran  from  one  thing  to  another.  Now  and 
then  a  man  would  stop,  and  burst  out  crying ; 
then  to  work  again  in  a  desperate  way.  "  One 
or  two  lost  heart  altogether,  and  had  to  be  driv- 
en. Finally,  one  or  two  succumbed  under  the 
unremitting  labor.  Despair  crept  over  others : 
their  features  began  to  change,  so  much  so  that 
several  countenances  were  hardly  recognizable, 
and  each  looking  in  the  other's  troubled  face, 
saw  his  own  fate  pictured  there. 
Six  feet  water  in  the  hold ! 
The  captain,  who  had  been  sober  beyond  his 
time,  now  got  dead  drunk. 

The  mate  took  the  command.  On.  hearing 
this,  Welch  and  Cooper  left  the  pumps.  Wylie 
ordered  them  back.  They  refused,  and  coolly 
lighted  their  pipes.  A  violent  altercation  took 
place,  which  was  brought  to  a  close  by  Welch. 

"It  is  no  use  pumping  the  ship,''  said  he. 
"She  is  doomed.  D'ye  think  we  are  blind,  my 
mate  and  me  ?  You  got  the  long-boat  ready  for 
yourself  before  ever  the  leak  was  sprung.  Now 
get  the  cutter  ready  for  my  mate  and  me." 

At  these  simple  words  Wylie  lost  color,  and 
walked  aft  without  a  word. 

Next  day  there  were  seven  feet  water  in  the 
hold,  and  quantities  of  bread  coming  up  through 
the  pumps. 

Wylie  ordered  the  men  from  the  pumps  to  the 
boats.  The  jolly-boat  was  provisioned  and  low- 
ered. While  she  was  towing  astern  the  cutter 
was  prepared,  and  the  ship  left  to  fill. 

All  this  time  Miss  Rolleston  had  been  kept  in 
the  dark,  not  as  to  the  danger,  but  as  to  its  extent. 
Great  was  her  surprise  when  Mr.  Hazel  entered 
her  cabin,  and  cast  an  ineffable  look  of  pity  on 
her. 

She  looked  up  surprised,  and  then  angry. 
"  How  dare  you  ?"  she  began. 

He  waved  his  hand  in  a  sorrowful  but  com- 
manding way.  "  Oh,  this  is  no  time  for  preju- 
dice ov  temper.  The  ship  is  sinking :  we  are  go- 
ing into  the  boats.  Pray  make  preparations. 
Here  is  a  list  I  have  written  of  the  things  you 
ought  to  take :  we  may  be  weeks  at  sea  in  an 
open  boat." 

Then,  seeing  her  dumfounded,  he  caught  up 
her  carpet-bag,  and  threw  her  work-box  into  it 
for  a  beginning.  He  then  laid  hands  upon  some 
of  her  preserved  meats  and  marmalade,  and 
carried  them  off  to  his  own  cabin. 
His  mind  then  flew  back  to  his  reading,  and 


passed  in  rapid  review  all  the  wants  that  men 
had  endured  in  open  boats. 

He  got  hold  of  Welch,  and  told  him  to  be  sure 
and  see  there  was  plenty  of  spare  canvas  on 
board,  and  sailing  needles,  scissors,  etc.  :  also 
three  bags  of  biscuit,  and,  above  all,  a  cask  of 
water. 

He  himself  ran  all  about  the  ship,  including 
the  mate's  cabin,  in  search  of  certain  tools  he 
thought  would  be  wanted. 

Then  to  his  own  cabin,  to  fill  his  carpet- 
bag. There  was  little  time  to  spare  ;  the  ship 
was  low  in  the  water  and  the  men  abandoning 
her.  He  flung  the  things  into  his  bag,  fastened 
and  locked  it,  strapped  up  his  blankets  for  her 
use,  flung  on  his  pea-jacket,  and  turned  the  han- 
dle of  his  door  to  run  out. 

The  door  did  not  open ! 

He  pushed  it.     It  did  not  yield  ! 

He  rushed  at  it.     It  was  fast ! 

He  uttered  a  cry  of  rage^  and  flung  himself  at 
it. 

Horror !     It  was  immovable  ! 


CHAPTER  XI. 


The  fearful,  the  sickening  truth  burst  on  him 
in  all  its  awful  significance. 

Some  miscreant  or  madman  had  locked  the 
door,  and  so  fastened  him  to  the  sinking  ship,  at 
a  time  when,  in  the  bustle,  the  alarm,  the  selfish- 
ness, all  would  be  apt  to  forget  him,  and  leave 
him  to  his  death. 

He  tried  the  door  in  every  way,  he  hammered 
at  it ;  he  shouted,  he  raged,  he  screamed.  In 
vain.  Unfortunately  the  door  of  this  cabin  was 
of  very  unusual  strength  and  thickness. 

Then  he  took  up  one  of  those  great  augers  he 
had  found  in  the  mate's  cabin,  and  bored  a  hole 
in  the  door ;  through  this  hole  he  fired  his  pistol, 
and  then  screamed  for  help.  "  I  am  shut  up  in 
the  cabin.  I  shall  be  drowned.  Oh,  for  Christ's 
sake  save  me  !  save  me  !"  and  a  cold  sweat  of 
terror  poured  down  his  whole  body. 

What  is  that  ? 

The  soft  rustle  of  a  woman's  dress. 

Oh,  how  he  thanked  God  for  that  music,  and 
the  hope  it  gave  him ! 

It  comes  towards  him  ;  it  stops,  the  key  is 
turned,  the  dress  rustles  away,  swift  as  a  winged 
bird  ;  he  dashes  at  the  door ;  it  flies  open. 

Nobody  was  near.  He  recovered  his  courage 
in  part,  fetched  out  his  bag  and  his  tools,  and 
ran  across  to  the  starboard  side.  There  he  found 
the  captain  lowering  Miss  Rolleston,  with  due 
care,  into  the  cutter,  and  the  young  lady  crying  ; 
not  at  being  shipwrecked,  if  you  please,  but  at 
being  deserted  by  her  maid.  Jane  Holt,  at  this 
trying  moment,  had  deserted  her  mistress  for  her 
husband.  This  was  natural ;  but,  as  is  the  rule 
with  persons  of  that  class,  she  had  done  this  in 
the  silliest  and  cruellest  way.  Had  she  given 
half  an  hour's  notice  of  her  intention,  Donovan 
might  have  been  on  board  the  cutter  with  her 
and  her  mistress.  But  no  ;  being  a  liar  and  a 
fool,  she  must  hide  her  husband  to  the  last  mo- 
ment, and  then  desert  her  mistress.  The  cap- 
tain, then,  was  comforting  Miss  Rolleston,  and 
telling  her  she  should  have  her  maid  with  her 
eventually,  when  Hazel  came.     He  handed  down 


FOUL  PLAY. 


37 


fiis  own  bag,  and  threw  the  blankets  into  the 
stern-sheets.  Then  went  down  himself,  and  sat 
on  the  midship-thwart. 

"Shove  ofly'  said  the  captain;  and  they  fell 
astern. 

But  Cooper,  with  a  boat-hook,  hooked  on  to 
the  long-boat ;  and  the  dying  ship  towed  them 
both. 

Five  minutes  more  elapsed,  and  the  captain 
did  not  come  down,  so  Wylie  nailed  him. 

There  was  no  answer.  Hudson  had  gone  into 
the  mate's  cabin.  Wylie  waited  a  minute,  then 
hailed  again.     "Hy  !  on  deck  there!" 

"  Hullo  !"  cried  the  captain,  at  last. 

"Why  didn't  you  come  in  the  cutter?" 

The  captain  crossed  his  arms,  and  leaned  over 
the  stern. 

11  Don't  you  know  that  Hiram  Hudson  is  al- 
ways the  last  to  leave  a  sinking  ship?" 

"Well,  you  are  the  last,"  said  Wylie.  "  So 
now  come  on  board  the  long-boat  at  once.  I 
dare  not  tow  in  her  wake  much  longer,  to  be 
sucked  in  when  she  goes  down." 

"Come  on  board  your  craft  and  desert  my 
own?"  said  Hudson,  disdainfully.  "Know  my 
duty  to  m'  employers  better." 

These  words  alarmed  the  mate.  "  Curse  it 
all !"  he  cried  ;  "  the  fool  has  been  and  got  some 
more  rum.  Fifty  guineas  to  the  man  that  will 
shin  up  the  tow-rope,  and  throw  that  madman 
into  the  sea;  then  we  can  pick  him  up.  He 
swims  like  a  cork." 

A  sailor  instantly  darted  forward  to  the  rope. 
But,  unfortunately,  Hudson  heard  this  proposal, 
and  it  enraged  him.  He  got  to  his  cutlass.  The 
sailor  drew  the  boat  under  the  ship's  stern,  but 
the  drunken  skipper  flourished  his  cutlass  furious- 
ly over  his  head.  "  Board  me  !  ye  pirates!  the 
first  that  lays  a  finger  on  my  bulwarks,  off  goes 
his  hand  at  the  wrist."  Suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  he  hacked  at  the  tow-rope  so  vigorously 
that  it  gave  way,  and  the  boats  fell  astern. 

Helen  Rolleston  uttered  a  shriek  of  dismay 
and  pity.      "  Oh,  save  him  !"  she  cried. 

"  Make  sail !"  cried  Cooper  ;  and,  in  a  few 
seconds,  they  got  all  her  canvas  set  upon  the 
cutter. 

Ic  seemed  a  hopeless  chase  for  these  shells  to 
sail  after  that  dying  monster  with  her  cloud  of 
canvas  all  drawing,  alow  and  aloft. 

"  But  it  did  not  prove  so.  The  gentle  breeze 
was  an  advantage  to  light  craft,  and  the  dying 
Proserpine  was  full  of  water,  and  could  only 
crawl. 

After  a  few  moments  of  great  anxiety,  the  boats 
crept  up,  the  cutter  on  her  port,  and  the  long- 
boat on  her  starboard  quarter. 

Wylie  ran  forward,  and,  hailing  Hudson,  im- 
plored him,  in  the  friendliest  tones,  to  give  him- 
self a  chance.  Then  tried  him  by  his  vanity, 
' '  Come  and  command  the  boats,  old  fellow. 
How  can  we  navigate  them  on  the  Pacific  with- 
out you  t". 

Hudson  was  now  leaning  over  the  taffrail  ut- 
terly drunk.  He  made  no  reply  to  the  mate, 
but  merely  waved  his  cutlass  feebly  in  one  hand, 
and  his  bottle  in  the  other,  and  gurgled  out, 
"  Duty  to  m'  employers." 

Then  Cooper,  without  a  word,  double-reefed 
the  cutter's  mainsail,  and  told'Welch  to  keep  as 
close  to  the  ship's  quarter  as  he  dare.  Wylie 
instinctively  did  the  same,  and  the  three  craft 


crawled  on  in  solemn  •  and  deadly  silence  for 
nearly  twenty  minutes. 

The  wounded  ship  seemed  to  receive  a  death- 
blow.    She  stopped  dead,  and  shook. 

The  next  moment  she  pitched  gently  forward, 
and  her  bows  went  under  the  water,  while  her 
after-part  rose  into  the  air,  and  revealed  to  those 
in  the  cutter  two  splintered  holes  in  her  run  just 
below  the  water-line. 

The  next  moment  her  stern  settled  down  ;  the 
sea  yawned  horribly,  the  great  waves  of  her  own 
making  rushed  over  her  upper  deck,  and  the  lof- 
ty masts  and  sails,  remaining  erect,  went  down 
with  sad  majesty  into  the  deep  :  and  nothing  re- 
mained but  the  bubbling  and  foaming  of  the  vo- 
racious water,  that  had  swallowed  up  the  good 
ship  and  her  cargo,  and  her  drunken  master. 

All  stood  up  in  the  boats,  ready  to  save  him. 
But  either  his  cutlass  sunk  him,  or  the  suction 
of  so  great  a  body  drew  him  down.  He  was 
seen,  no  more  in  this  world. 

A  loud  sigh  broke  from  every  living  bosom 
that  witnessed  that  terrible  catastrophe. 

It  was  beyond  words  :  and  none  were  uttered, 
except  by  Cooper,  who  spoke  so  seldom ;  yet 
now  three  words  of  terrible  import  burst  from 
him,  and,  uttered  in  his  loud,  deep  voice,  rang 
like  the  sunk  ship's  knell  over  the  still  bubbling 
water — 

"  Scuttled — by  God  !" 


CHAPTER  XII. 


"Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Welch,  with  an 
oath. 

Mr.  Hazel  looked  at  Miss  Rolleston,  and  she 
at  him.  It  was  a  momentary  glance,  and  her 
eyes  sank  directly,  and  filled  with  patient  fears. 

For  the  first  few  minutes  after  the  Proserpine 
went  down,  the  survivors  sat  benumbed,  as  if 
awaiting  their  turn  to  be  ingulfed. 

They  seemed  so  little,  and  the  Proserpine  so 
big ;  yet  she  was  swallowed  before  their  eyes, 
like  a  crumb.  They  lost,  for  a  few  moments,  all 
idea  of  escaping. 

But,  true  it  is,  that,  "while  there's  life  there's 
hope :"  and,  as  soon  as  their  hearts  began  to 
beat  again,  their  eyes  roved  round  the  horizon, 
and  their  elastic  minds  recoiled  against  despair. 

This  was  rendered  easier  by  the  wonderful 
beauty  of  the  weather.  There  were  men  there 
who  had  got  down  from  a  sinking  ship,  into  boats 
heaving  and  tossing  against  her  side  in  a  gale  of 
wind,  and  yet  been  saved  :  and  here  all  was  calm 
and  delightful.  To  be  sure,  in  those  other  ship- 
wrecks land  had  been  near,  and  their  greatest 
peril  was  over  when  once  the  boats  got  clear  of 
the  distressed  ship  without  capsizing.  Here  was 
no  immediate  peril ;  but  certain  death  menaced 
them  at  an  uncertain  distance. 

Their  situation  was  briefly  this.  Should  it 
come  on  to  blow  a  gale,  these  open  boats,  small 
and  loaded,  could  not  hope  to  live.  Therefore 
they  had  two  chances  for  life,  and  no  more  : 
they  must  either  make  land — or  be  picked  up 
at  sea — before  the  weather  changed. 

But  how  ?  The  nearest  known  land  was  the 
group  of  islands  called  Juan  Fernandez,  and 
they  lay  somewhere  to  leeward ;  but  distant  at 
least  nine  hundred  miles  ;  and  should  they  pre- 


38 


FOUL  PLAY. 


fer  the  other  chance,  then  the)'  must  beat  three 
hundred  miles  and  more  to  windward  ;  for  Hud- 
son underrating  the  leak,  as  is  supposed,  had  run 
the  Proserpine  fully  that  distance  out  of  the  track 
of  trade. 

Now  the  ocean  is  a  highway — in  law  ;  but,  in 
fact,  it  contains  a  few  highways,  and  millions 
of  byways ;  and,  once  a  cockle-shell  gets  into 
those  byways,  small  indeed  is  its  chance  of  being 
seen  and  picked  up  by  any  sea-going  vessel. 

Wylie,  who  was  leading,  lowered  his  sail,  and 
hesitated  between  the  two  courses  we  have  indi- 
cated. However,  on  the  cutter  coming  up  with 
him,  he  ordered  Cooper  to  keep  her  head  north- 
east, and  so  run  all  night.  He  then  made  all  the 
sail  he  could  in  the  same  direction,  and  soon  out- 
sailed the  cutter.  When  the  sun  went  down, 
he  was  about  a  mile  ahead  of  her. 

Just  before  sunset,  Mr.  Hazel  made  a  dis- 
covery that  annoyed  him  very  much.  He  found 
that  Welch  had  put  only  one  bag  of  biscuit,  a 
ham,  a  keg  of  spirits,  and  a  small  barrel  of  wa- 
ter, on  board  the  cutter. 

He  remonstrated  with  him  sharply.  Welch 
replied  that  it  was  all  right;  the  cutter  being 
small,  he  had  put  the  rest  of  her  provisions  on 
board  the  long-boat. 

"  On  board  the  long-boat !"  said  Hazel,  with 
a  look  of  wonder.  "You  have  actually  made 
our  lives  depend  upon  that  scoundrel  Wylie  again. 
You  deserve  to  be  flung  into  the  sea.  You  have 
no  forethought  yourself;  yet  you  will  not  be 
guided  by  those  that  have  it." 

Welch  hung  his  head  a  little  at  these  reproach- 
es. However,  he  replied,  rather  sullenly,  that 
it  was  only  for  one  night ;  they  could  signal  the 
long-boat  in  the  morning,  and  get  the  other  bags, 
and  the  cask,  out  of  her.  But  Mr.  Hazel  was  not 
to  be  appeased.  "  The  morning !  Why,  she  sails 
three  feet  to  our  two.  How  do  you  know  he 
won't  run  away  from  us  ?  I  never  expect  to  get 
within  ten  miles  of  him  again.  We  know  him  ; 
and  he  knows  we  know  him." 

Cooper  got  up,  and  patted  Mr  Hazel  on  the 
shoulder,  soothingly.  "Boat-hook  aft,"  said 
he  to  Welch. 

He  then,  by  an  ingenious  use  of  the  boat-hook 
and  some  of  the  spare  canvas,  contrived  to  set 
out  a  studding-sail  on  the  other  side  of  the 
mast. 

Hazel  thanked  him  warmly.  "But  oh,  Coop- 
er !  Cooper !"  said  he,  "  I'd  give  all  I  had  in  the 
world  if  that  bread  and  water  were  on  board  the 
cutter  instead  of  the  long-boat." 

The  cutter  had  now  two  wings,  instead  of 
one ;  the  water  bubbling  loud  under  her  bows 
marked  her  increased  speed ;  and  all  fear  of  being 
greatly  outsailed  by  her  consort  began  to  subside. 

A  slight  sea-fret  came  on,  and  obscured  the 
sea  in  part ;  but  they  had  a  good  lantern  and 
compass,  and  steered  the  course  exactly,  all 
night,  according  to  Wylie's  orders,  changing 
the  helmsman  every  four  hours. 

Mr.  Hazel,  without  a  word,  put  a  rug  round 
Miss  Rolleston's  shoulders,  and  another  round 
her  feet. 

"  Oh,  not  both,  sir,  please,"  said  she. 

"  Am  I  to  be  disobeyed  by  every  body?"  said 
he. 

Then  she  submitted  in  silence,  and  in  a  certain 
obsequious  way  that  was  quite  new,  and  well  cal- 
culated to  disarm  anger. 


Sooner  or  later,  all  slept,  except  the  helms- 
man. 

At  daybreak,  Mr.  Hazel  was  wakened  by  a 
loud  hail  from  a  man  in  the  bows. 

All  the  sleepers  started  up. 

"  Long-boat  not  in  sight !" 

It  was  too  true.  The  ocean  was  blank  ;  not  a 
sail,  large  or  small,  in  sight. 

Many  voices  spoke  at  once. 

"  He  has  carried  on  till  he  has  capsized  her." 

"  He  has  given  us  the  slip." 

Unwilling  to  believe  so  great  a  calamity,  every 
eye  peered  and  stared  all  over  the  sea.  In  vain. 
Not  a  streak  that  could  be  a  boat's  hull,  not  a 
speck  that  could  be  a  sail. 

The  little  cutter  was  alone  upon  the  ocean. 
Alone,  with  scarcely  two  days'  provisions,  nine 
hundred  miles  from  land,  and  four  hundred  miles 
to  leeward  of  the  nearest  .sea-road. 

Hazel,  seeing  his  worst  forebodings  realized, 
sat  down  in  moody,  bitter,  and  boding  silence. 

Of  the  other  men  some  raged  and  cursed. 
Some  wept  aloud. 

The  lady,  more  patient,  put  her  hands  togeth- 
er, and  prayed  to  Him  who  made  the  sea  and 
all  that  therein  is.  Yet  her  case  was  the  cruel- 
lest. For  she  was  by  nature  more  timid  than 
the  men,  yet  she  must  share  their  desperate 
peril.  And  then  to  be  alone  with  all  these  men, 
and  one  of  them  had  told  her  he  loved  her,  and 
hated  the  man  she  was  betrothed  to!  Shame 
tortured  this  delicate  creature,  as  well  as  fear. 
Happy  for  her,  that  of  late,  and  only  of  late,  she 
had  learned  to  pray  in  earnest.  "Qui  precai'i 
novit,  premi  potest,  non  potest  opprimi." 

It  was  now  a  race  between  starvation  and 
drowning,  and  either  way  death  stared  them  in 
the  face. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  long-boat  was,  at  this  moment,  a  hundred 
miles  to  windward  of  the  cutter. 

The  fact  is,  that  Wylie,  the  evening  before, 
had  been  secretly  perplexed  as  to  the  best  course. 
He  had  decided  to  run  for  the  island ;  but  he 
was  not  easy  under  his  own  decision ;  and  at 
night  he  got  more  and  more  discontented  with  it. 
Finally,  at  nine  o'clock,  p.m.,  he  suddenly  gave 
the  order  to  luiF,  and  tack  :  and  by  daybreak  he 
was  very  near  the  place  where  the  Proserpine  went 
down  :  whereas  the  cutter,  having  run  before  the 
wind  all  night  was,  at  least,  a  hundred  miles  to 
leeward  of  him. 

Not  to  deceive  the  reader,  or  let  him,  for  a  mo- 
ment, think  we  do  business  in  monsters,  we 
will  weigh  this  act  of  Wylie's  justly. 

It  was  just  a  piece  of  iron  egotism.  He  pre- 
ferred, for  himself,  the  chance  of  being  picked 
up  by  a  vessel.  He  thought  it  was  about  a  hair's 
breadth  better  than  running  for  an  island,  as  to 
whose  bearing  he  was  not  very  clear,  after  all. 

But  he  was  not  sure  he  was  taking  the  best  or 
safest  course.  The  cutter  might  be  saved,  after 
all,  and  the  long-boat  lost. 

Meantime  he  was  not  sorry  of  an  excuse  to 
shake  off  the  cutter.  She  contained  one  man  «t 
least  who  knew  he  had  scuttled  the  Proserpine ; 
and  therefore  it  was  all-important  to  him  to  get 
to  London  before   her.  and  receive  the   three 


FOUL  PLAY. 


88 


thousand  pounds  which  was  to  be  his  reward  for 
that  abominable  act. 

But  the  way  to  get  to  London  before  Mr.  Ha- 
zel, or  else  to  the  bottom  of  the  Pacific  before 
him,  was  to  get  back  into  the  sea- road,  at  all 
hazards. 

He  was  not  aware  that  the  cutter's  water  and 
biscuit  were  on  board  his  boat ;  nor  did  he  discov- 
er this  till  noon  next  day.  And,  on  making  this 
fearful  discovery,  he  showed  himself  human  ;  he 
cried  out,  with  an  oath,  "  What  have  I  done  ?  I 
have  damned  myself  to  all  eternity  !" 

He  then  ordered  the  boat  to  be  put  before  the 
wind  again  ;  but  the  men  scowled,  and  not  one 
stirred  a  finger  ;  and  he  saw  the  futility  of  this, 
and  did  not  persist ;  but  groaned  aloud ;  and 
then  sat,  staring  wildly ;  finally,  like  a  true  sail- 
or, he  got  to  the  rum,  and  stupefied  his  agitated 
conscience  for  a  time. 

While  he  lay  drunk  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
his  sailors  carried  out  his  last  instructions,  beat- 
ing southward  right  in  the  wind's  eye. 

Five  days  they  beat  to  windward,  and  never 
saw  a  sail.  Then  it  fell  a  dead  calm ;  and  so 
remained  for  three  days  more. 

The  men  began  to  suffer  greatly  from  cramps, 
owing  to  their  number  and  confined  position. 
During  the  calm,  they  rowed  all  day,  and  with 
this,  and  a  light  westerly  breeze  that  sprung  up, 
they  got  into  the  sea-road  again :  but,  having 
now  sailed  three  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the 
southward,  they  found  a  great  change  in  the 
temperature  :  the  nights  were  so  cold  that  they 
were  fain  to  huddle  together,  to  keep  a  little 
warmth  in  their  bodies. 

On  the  fifteenth  day  of  their  voyage  it  began 
to  rain  and  blow,  and  then  they  were  never  a 
whole  minute  out  of  peril.  Hand  forever  on 
the  sheet,  eye  on  the  waves,  to  ease  her  at  the 
right  moment :  and,  with  all  this  care,  the  spray 
eternally  flying  half-way  over  her  mast,  and 
often  a  body  of  water  making  a  clean  breach 
over  her,  and  the  men  bailing  night  and  day 
with  their  very  hats,  or  she  could  not  have  lived 
an  hour. 

At  last,  when  they  were  almost  dead  with 
wet,  cold,  fatigue,  and  danger,  a  vessel  came  in 
sight,  and  crept  slowly  up,  about  two  miles  to 
windward  of  the  distressed  boat.  With  the 
heave  of  the  waters  they  could  see  little  more 
than  her  sails ;  but  they  ran  up  a  bright  ban- 
danna handkerchief  to  their  mast-head ;  and 
the  ship  made  them  out.  She  hoisted  Dutch 
colors,  and — continued  her  course. 

Then  the  poor  abandoned  creatures  wept,  and 
raved,  and  cursed,  in  their  frenzy,  glaring  after 
that  cruel,  shameless  man,  who  could  do  such 
an  act,  yet  hoist  a  color,  and  show  of  what  na- 
tion he  was  the  native — and  the  disgrace. 

But  one  of  them  said  not  a  word.  This  was 
Wylie.  He  sat  shivering,  and  remembered  how 
he  had  abandoned  the  cutter,  and  all  on  board. 
Loud  sighs  broke  from  his  laboring  breast ;  but 
not  a  word.  Yet  one  word  was  ever  present  to 
his  mind ;  and  seemed  written  in  fire  on  the 
night  of  clouds,  and  howled  in  his  ears  by  the 
wind, — Retribution ! 

And  now  came  a  dirty  night — to  men  on 
ships ;  a  fearful  night  to  men  in  boats.  The 
sky  black,  the  sea  on  fire  with  crested  billows, 
that  broke  over  them  every  minute  ;  their  light 
was  washed  out;  their  provisions  drenched  and 


spoiled ;  bail  as  they  would,  the  boat  was  al- 
|  ways  filling.  Up  to  their  knees  in  water  ;  cold 
;  as  ice,  blinded  with  spray,  deafened  with  roar- 
j  ing  billows,  they,  tossed  and  tumbled  in  a  fiery 
foaming  hell  of  waters,  and  still,  though  despair- 
ing, clung  to  their  lives,  and  bailed  with  their 
hats  unceasingly. 

Day  broke,  and  the  first  sight  it  revealed  to 
them  was  a  brig  to  windward  staggering  along, 
and  pitching  under  close-reefed  topsails. 

They  started  up,  and  waved  their  hats,  and 
cried  aloud.  But  the  wind  carried  their  voices 
to  leeward,  and  the  brig  staggered  on. 

They  ran  up  their  little  signal  of  distress; 
but  still  the  ship  staggered  on. 

Then  the  miserable  men  shook  hands  all 
round,  and  gave  themselves  up  for  lost. 

But  at  this  moment  the  brig  hoisted  a  vivid 
flag  all  stripes  and  stars,  and  altered  her  course 
a  point  or  two. 

She  crossed  the  boat's  track  a  mile  ahead, 
and  her  people  looked  over  the  bulwarks,  and 
waved  their  hats  to  encourage  those  tossed  and 
desperate  men. 

Having  thus  given  them  the  weather-gage, 
the  brig  hove  to  for  them. 

They  ran  down  to  her,  and  crept  under  her 
lee  ;  down  came  ropes  to  them,  held  by  friendly 
hands,  and  friendly  faces  shone  down  at  them  ; 
eager  grasps  seized  each  as  he  went  up  the  ship's 
side,  and  so,  in  a  very  short  time,  they  sent  the 
woman  up,  and  the  rest  being  all  sailors,  and 
clever  as  cats,  they  were  safe  on  board  the 
whaling-brig  Maria,  Captain  Slocum,  of  Nan- 
tucket, U.  S. 

Their  log,  eompass,  and  instruments  were 
also  saved. 

The  boat  was  cast  adrift,  and  was  soon  after 
seen  bottom  upward  on  the  crest  of  a  wave. 

The  good  Samaritan  in  command  of  the 
Maria  supplied  them  with  dry  clothes  out  of  the 
ship's  stores,  good  food,  and  medical  attendance, 
which  was  much  needed,  their  legs  and  feet 
being  in  a  deplorable  condition,  and  their  own 
surgeon  crippled. 

A  southeasterly  gale  induced  the  American 
skipper  to  give  Cape  Horn  a  wide  berth,  and 
the  Maria  soon  found  herself  three  degrees 
south  of  that  perilous  coast.  There  she  en- 
countered field-ice.  In  this  labyrinth  they 
dodged  and  worried  for  eighteen  days,  until  a 
sudden  chop  in  the  wind  gave  the  captain  a 
chance,  of  which  he  promptly  availed  himself; 
and  in  forty  hours  they  sighted  Terra  del 
Fuego. 

During  this  time,  the  rescued  crew,  having 
recovered  from  the  effects  of  their  hardships, 
fell  into  the  work  of  the  ship,  and  took  their 
turns  with  the  Yankee  seamen.  The  brig  was 
short-handed  ;  but  now  trimmed  and  handled 
by  a  full  crew  and  the  Proserpine's  men,  who 
were  first-class  seamen,  and  worked  with  a  will, 
because  work  was  no  longer  a  duty,  she  exhib- 
ited a  speed  the  captain  had  almost  forgotten 
was  in  the  craft.  Now  speed  at  sea  means 
economy,  for  every  day  added  to  a  voyage  is  so 
much  off  the  profits.  Slocum  was  part  owner 
of  the  vessel,  and  shrewdly  alive  to  the  value  of 
the  seamen.  When  about  three  hundred  miles 
south  of  Buenos  Ayres,  Wylie  proposed  that  they 
should  be  landed  there,  from  whence  they  might 
be  transshipped  to  a  vessel  bound  for  home. 


40 


FOUL  PLAY. 


This  was  objected  to  by  Slocum,  on  the 
ground  that  by  such  a  deviation  from  his  course, 
he  must  lose  three  days,  and  the  port-dues  at 
Buenos  Ayres  were  heavy. 

Wylie  undertook  that  the  house  of  Wardlaw 
and  Son  should  indemnify  the  brig  for  all  ex- 
penses and  losses  incurred. 

Still  the  American  hesitated  ;  at  last  he  hon- 
estly told  Wylie  he  wished  to  keep  the  men ; 
he  liked  them,  they  liked  him.  He  had  sounded 
them,  and  they  had  no  objection  to  join  his  ship, 
and  sign  articles  for  a  three  years'  whaling  voy- 
age, provided  they  did  not  thereby  forfeit  the 
wages  to  which  they  would  be  entitled  on 
reaching  Liverpool.  Wylie  went  forward  and 
asked  the  men  if  they  would  take  service  with 
the  Yankee  captain.  "  All  but  three  expressed 
their  desire  to  do  so ;  these-  three  had  families 
in  England,  and  refused.  The  mate  gave  the 
others  a  release,  and  an  order  on  Wardlaw  and 
Co.,  for  their  full  wages  for  the  voyage;  then 
they  signed  articles  with  Captain  Slocum,  and 
entered  the  American  Mercantile  .Navy. 

Two  days  after  this  they  sighted  the  high 
lands  at  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  de  la  Plata  at 
10  p.m.,  and  lay  to  for  a  pilot.  After  three 
hours'  delay  they  were  boarded  by  a  pilot-boat, 
and  then  began  to  creep  into  the  port.  The 
night  was  very  dark,  and  a  thin  white  fog  lay  on 
the  water. 

Wylie  was  sitting  on  the  taffrail,  and  convers- 
ing with  Slocum,  when  the  lookout  forward 
sung  out,  "Sail  ho!" 

Another  voice  almost  simultaneously  yelled 
out  of  the  fog,  "Port  your  helm  !" 

Suddenly  out  of  the  mist,  and  close  aboard 
the  Maria  appeared  the  hull  and  canvas  of  a 
large  ship.  The  brig  was  crossing  her  course, 
and  her  great  bowsprit  barely  missed  the  brig's 
mainsail.  It  stood  for  a  moment,  over  Wylie's 
head.  He  looked  up,  and  there  was  the  figure- 
head of  the  ship  looming  almost  within  his 
reach.  It  was  a  colossal  green  woman ;  one 
arm  extended  grasped  a  golden  harp,  the  other 
was  pressed  to  her  head  in  the  attitude  of  hold- 
ing back  her  wild  and  flowing  hair.  The  face 
seemed  to  glare  down  upon  the  two  men  :  in  an- 
other moment  the  monster,  gliding  on,  just 
missing  the  brig,  was  lost  in  the  fog. 

"  That  was  a  narrow  squeak,"  said  Slocum. 

Wylie  made  no  answer,  but  looked  into  the 
darkness  after  the  vessel. 

He  had  recognized  her  figure-head. 

It  was  the  Shannon ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Before  the  Maria  sailed  a*gain,  with  the  men 
who  formed  a  part  of  Wylie's  crew,  he  made 
them  sign  a  declaration  before  the  English  Con- 
sul at  Buenos  Ayres.  This  document  set  forth 
the  manner  in  which  the  Proserpine  foundered ; 
it  was  artfully  made  up  of  facts  enough  to  de- 
ceive a  careless  listener ;  but,  when  Wylie  read 
it  over  to  them,  he  slurred  over  certain  parts, 
which  he  took  care,  also,  to  express  in  language 
above  the  comprehension  of  such  men.  Of 
course  they  assented  eagerly  to  what  they  did 
not  understand,  and  signed  the  statement  consci- 
eutiouslv. 


So  Wylie  and  his  three  men  were  shipped  on 
board  the  Boadicea,  bound  for  Liverpool,  in  Old 
England,  while  the  others  sailed  with  Captain 
Slocum  for  Nantucket,  in  New  England. 

The  Boadicea  was  a  clipper  laden  with  hides 
and  a  miscellaneous  cargo.  For  seventeen  days 
she  flew  before  a  southerly  gale,  being  on  her 
best  sailing  point,  and,  after  one  of  the  shortest 
passages  she  had  ever  made,  she  lay  to,  outside 
the  bar,  off  the  Mersey.  It  wanted  but  one  hour 
to  daylight,  the  tide  was  flowing ;  the  pilot 
sprang  aboard. 

"What  do  you  draw  ?"  he  asked  of  the  mas- 
ter. 

"  Fifteen  feet,  barely,'*  was  the  reply. 

"  That  will  do,"  and  the  vessel's  head  was  laid 
for  the  river. 

They  passed  a  large  bark,  with  her  topsails 
backed. 

"Ay,"  remarked  the  pilot,  "she  has  waited 
since  the  half-ebb;  there  ain't  more  than  four 
hours  in  the  twenty-four  that  such  craft  as  that 
can  get  in." 

"  What  is  she  ?  An  American  liner  ?"  asked 
Wylie,  peering  through  the  gloom. 

"No,"  said  the  pilot;  "she's  an  Australian 
ship.     She's  the  Shannon,  from  Sydney." 

The  mate  started,  looked  at  the  man,  then  at 
the  vessel.  Twice  the  Shannon  had  thus  met 
him,  as  if  to  satisfy  him  that  his  object  had  been 
attained,  and  each  time  she  seemed  to  him  not 
an  inanimate  thing  but  a  silent  accomplice.  A 
chill  of  fear  struck  through  the  man's  frame  as 
he  looked  at  her.  Yes,  there  she  lay,  and  in  her 
hold  were  safely  stowed  £160,000  in  gold,  mark- 
ed lead  and  copper. 

Wylie  had  no  luggage  nor  effects  to  detain  him 
on  board  ;  he  landed,  and,  having  bestowed  his 
three  companions  in  a  sailors'  boarding-house, 
he  was  hastening  to  the  shipping  agents  of  Ward- 
law  and  Son  to  announce  his  arrival  and  the  fate 
of  the  Proserpine.  He  had  reached  their  offices 
in  Water  Street  before  he  recollected  that  it  was 
barely  half  past  five  o'clock,  and,  though  broad 
daylight  on  that  July  morning,  merchants'  offices 
are  not  open  at  that  hour.  The  sight  of  the 
Shannon  had  so  bewildered  him  that  he  had  not 
noticed  that  the  shops  were  all  shut,  the  streets 
deserted.  Then  a  thought  occurred  to  him,  why 
not  be  a  bearer  of  his  own  news  ?  He  did  not 
require  to  turn  the  idea  twice  over,  but  resolved, 
for  many  reasons,  to  adopt  it.  As  he  hurried  to 
the  railway  station,  he  tried  to  recollect  the  hour 
at  which  the  early  train  started  ;  but  his  confused 
and  excited  mind  refused  to  perform  the  func- 
tion of  memory.     The  Shannon  dazed  him. 

At  the  railway  station  he  found  that  a  train 
had  started  at  4  a.m.,  and  there  was  nothing 
until  7  30.  This  check  sobered  him  a  little,  and 
he  went  back  to  the  docks  ;  he  walked  out  to  the 
farther  end  of  that  noble  line  of  berths,  and  sat 
down  on  the  verge  with  his  legs  dangling  over  the 
water.  He  waited  an  hour ;  it  was  six  o'clock 
by  the  great  dial  at  St.  George's  Dock.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  Shannon,  which  was  mov- 
ing slowly  up  the  river;  she  came  abreast  to 
where  he  sat.  The  few  sails  requisite  to  give 
her  steerage  fell.  Her  anchor-chain  rattled,  and 
she  swung  round  with  the  tide.  The  clock  struck 
the  half-hour ;  a  boat  left  the  side  of  the  vessel 
and  made  straight  for  the  steps  near  where  he 
was  seated.     A  tall,  noble-looking  man  sat  in 


FOUL  PLAY. 


41 


the  stern-sheets  beside  the  coxswain  :  he  was  put 
ashore,  and,  after  exchanging  a  few  words  with 
the  boat's  crew,  he  mounted  the  steps  which  led 
him  to  Wylie's  side,  followed  by  one  of  the  sail- 
ors, who  curried  a  portmanteau. 

He  stood  for  a  single  moment  on  the  quay, 
and  stamped  his  foot  on  the  broad  stones ;  then, 
heaving  a  deep  sigh  of  satisfaction,  he  murmur- 
ed, "Thank  God!" 

He  turned  towards  Wylie. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  my  man,  at  what  hour  the 
first  train  starts  for  London  ?" 

"There is  a  slow  train  at  7  30  and  an  express 
at  9." 

"  The  express  will  serve  me,  and  give  me  time 
for  breakfast  at  the  Adelphi.  Thank  you  ;  good- 
morning  ;"  and  the  gentleman  passed  on,  follow- 
ed by  the  sailor. 

Wylie  looked  after  him ;  he  noted  that  erect 
military  carriage  and  crisp,  gray  hair  and  thick 
white  mustache  ;  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  he 
had  seen  that  face  before,  and  the  memory  troub- 
led him. 

At  7  30  Wylie  started  for  London  ;  the  milita- 
ry man  followed  him  in  the  express  at  9,  and 
caught  him  up  at  Rugby;  together  they  arrived 
at  the  station  at  Euston  Square  ;  it  was  a  quarter 
to  three.  Wylie  hailed  a  cab,  but,  before  be 
could  struggle  through  the  crowd  to  reach  it,  a 
railway  porter  threw  a  portmanteau  on  its  roof, 
and  his  military  acquaintance  took  possession  of 
it. 

"All  right,"  said  the  porter.  "What  ad- 
dress, sir  ?" 

Wylie  did  not  hear  what  the  gentleman  said, 
but  the  porter  shouted  it  to  the  cabman,  and  then 
he  did  hear  it. 

"  No.  —  Russell  Square." 

It  was  the  house  of  Arthur  Wardlaw  ! 

Wylie  took  off  his  hat,  rubbed  his  frowzy  hair, 
and  gaped  after  the  cab. 

He  entered  another  cab,  and  told  the  driver  to 
go  to  "  No.  —  Fenchurch  Street."    ■ 

It  was  the  office  of  Wardlaw  and  Son. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Our  scene  now  changes  from  the  wild  ocean 
and  its  perils  to  a  snug  room  in  Fenchurch  Street, 
the  inner  office  of  Wardlaw  and  Son ;  a  large 
apartment,  panelled  with  fine  old  mellow  Span- 
ish oak  ;  and  all  the  furniture  in  keeping ;  the 
carpet,  a  thick  Axminster  of  sober  colors ;  the 
chairs,  of  oak  and  morocco,  very  substantial ;  a 
large  office-table,  with  oaken  legs  like  very  col- 
umns, substantial ;  two  Milner  safes  ;  a  globe  of 
unusual  size,  with  a  handsome  tent  over  it,  made 
of  roan  leather,  figured ;  the  walls  hung  with 
long  oak  boxes,  about  eight  inches  broad,  con- 
taining rolled  maps  of  high  quality  and  great  di- 
mensions ;  to  consult  which,  oaken  sceptres  tip- 
ped with' brass  hooks  stood  ready:  with  these 
the  great  maps  could  be  drawn  down  and  inspect- 
ed ;  and,  on  being  released,  flew  up  into  their 
wooden  boxes  again.  Besides  these  were  hung 
up  a  few  drawings,  representing  outlines,  and 
inner  sections,  of  vessels  :  and,  on  a  smaller  ta- 
ble, lay  models,  almanacs,  etc.  The  great  office- 
table  was  covered  with  writing  materials  and 
papers,  all  but  a  square  space  inclosed  with  a  lit- 


tle silver  rail,  and  inside  that  space  lay  a  purple 
morocco  case  about  ten  inches  square  ;  it  was 
locked,  and  contained  an  exquisite  portrait  of 
Helen  Rolleston. 

This  apartment  was  so  situated,  and  the 
frames  of  the  plate-glass  windows  so  well  made 
and  substantial,  that,  let  a  storm  blow  a  thousand 
ships  ashore,  it  could  not  be  felt,  nor  heard  in 
Wardlaw's  inner  office. 

But  appearances  are  deceitful ;  and  who  can 
wall  out  a  sea  of  troubles,  and  the  tempests  of 
the  mind  ? 

The  inmate  of  that  office  was  battling  for  his 
commercial  existence,  under  accumulated  diffi- 
culties and  dangers.  Like  those  who  sailed  the 
Proserpine's  long-boat,  upon  that  dirty  night, 
which  so  nearly  swamped  her,  his  eye  had  now 
to  be  on  every  wave,  and  the  sheet  forever  in  his 
hand. 

His  measures  had  been  ably  taken  ;  but,  as 
will  happen  when  clever  men  are  driven  into  a 
corner,  he  had  backed  events  rather  too  freely 
against  time;  had  allowed  too  slight  a  margin 
for  unforeseen  delays.  For  instance,  he  had  av- 
eraged the  Shannon's  previous  performances,  and 
had  calculated  on  her  arrival  too  nicely.  She 
was  a  fortnight  overdue,  and  that  delay  brought 
peril. 

He  had  also  counted  upon  getting  news  of  the 
Proserpine.  But  not  a  word  had  reached  Lloyd's 
as  yet. 

At  this  very  crisis  came  the  panic  of  '66. 
Overend  and  Gurney  broke  ;  and  Wardlaw's  ex- 
perience led  him  to  fear  that,  sooner  or  later, 
there  would  be  a  run  on  every  bank  in  London. 
Now  he  had  borrowed  £80,000  at  one  bank,  and 
£35,000  at  another:  and,  without  his  ships, 
could  not  possibly  pay  a  quarter  of  the  money. 
If  the  banks  in  question  were  run  upon,  and 
obliged  to  call  in  all  their  resources,  his  credit 
must  go;  and  this,  in  his  precarious  position, 
was  ruin. 

He  had  concealed  his  whole  condition  from 
his  father,  by  false  book-keeping.  Indeed,  he 
had  only  two  confidants  in  the  world  ;  poor  old 
Michael  Penfold,  and  Helen  Rolleston's  portrait ; 
and  even  to  these  two  he  made  half  confidences. 
He  dared  not  tell  either  of  them  all  he  had  done, 
and  all  he  was  going  to  do. 

His  redeeming  feature  was  as  bright  as  ever. 
He  still  loved  Helen  Rolleston  with  a  chaste, 
constant,  and  ardent  affection  that  did  him  hon- 
or. He  loved  money  too  well :  but  he  loved 
Helen  better.  In  all  his  troubles  and  worries,  it 
was  his  one  consolation  to  unlock  her  portrait, 
and  gaze  on  it,  and  purify  his  soul  for  a  few 
minutes.  Sometimes  he  would  apologize  to  it 
for  an  act  of  doubtful  morality.  "How  can  I 
risk  the  loss  of  you  ?"  was  his  favorite  excuse. 
No :  he  must  have  credit.  He  must  have  money. 
She  must  not  suffer  by  his  past  imprudences. 
They  must  be  repaired  at  any  cost — for  her  sake. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  Mr.  Pen- 
fold  was  sorting  the  letters  for  his  employer, 
when  a  buxom  young  woman  rushed  into  the 
outer  office,  crying,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Penfold !"  and 
sank  into  a  chair,  breathless. 

"  Dear  heart !  what  is  the  matter  now  ?"  said 
the  old  gentleman. 

"  I  have  had  a  dream,  sir:  I  breamed  I  saw 
Joe  Wylie  out  on  the  seas,  in  a  boat ;  and  the 
wind  it  was  a  blowing  and  the  sea  a  roaring  to 


42 


FOUL  PLAY. 


that  degree  as  Joe  looked  at  me,  and  says  he, 
'Pray  for  me,  Nancy  Rouse.'  So  I  says,  '  Oh 
dear,  Joe,  what  is  the  matter?  and  what  ever 
is  become  of  the  Proserpine?' 

"  'Gone  to  hell !'  says  he  :  which  he  knows 
I  object  to  foul  language.  '  Gone— there— '  says 
he,  '  and  I  am  sailing  in  her  wake.  Oh,  pray  for 
me,  Nancy  Rouse  !'  With  that,  I  tries  to  pray 
in  my  dream,  and  screams  instead,  and  wakes 
myself.  Oh,  Mr.  Penfold,  do  tell  me,  have  you 
got  any  news  of  the  Proserpine  this  morning?" 

"What  is  that  to  you?"  inquired  Arthur 
Wardlaw,  who  had  entered  just  in  time  to  hear 
this  last  query. 

"  What  is  it  to  me !"  cried  Nancy,  firing  up ; 
"  it  is  more  to  me,  perhaps,  than  it  is  to  you,  for 
that  matter." 

Penfold  explained,  timidly,  "Sir,  Mrs.  Rouse 
is  my  landlady." 

"  Which  I  have  never  been  to  church  with  any 
man  yet  of  the  name  of  Rouse,  leastways,  not  in 
my  waking  hours,"  edged  in  the  lady. 

"  Miss  Rouse,  I  should  say,"  said  Penfold, 
apologizing.  "  I  beg  pardon,  but  I  thought 
Mrs.  might  sound  better  in  a  landlady.  Please, 
sir,  Mr.  Wylie,  the  mate  of  the  Proserpine,  is  her 
— her — sweetheart." 

"  Not  he.  Leastways,  he  is  only  on  trial,  after 
a  manner." 

"  Of  course,  sir — only  after  a  manner,"  added 
Penfold,  sadly  perplexed.  "Miss  Rouse  is  in- 
capable of  any  thing  else.  But,  if  you  please, 
m'm,  I  don't  presume  to  know  the  exact  rela- 
tion;"  and  then  with  great  reserve,  "but  you 
know  you  are  anxious  about  him." 

Miss  Rouse  sniffed,  and  threw  her  nose  in  the 
air, — as  if  to  throw  a  doubt  even  on  that  view  of 
the  matter. 

"  Well,  madam,"  says  Wardlaw,  "  I  am  sorry 
to  say  I  can  give  you  no  information.  I  share 
your  anxiety,  for  I  have  got  £160,000  of  gold  in 
the  ship.  You  might  inquire  at  Lloyd's.  Di- 
rect her  there,  Mr.  Penfold,  and  bring  me  my 
letters." 

With  this  he  entered  his  inner  office,  sat  down, 
took  out  a  golden  key,  opened  the  portrait  of 
Helen,  gazed  at  it,  kissed  it,  uttered  a  deep  sigh, 
and  prepared  to  face  the  troubles  of  the  day. 

Penfold  brought  in  a  leathern  case  like  an 
enormous  bill-book  :  it  had  thirty  vertical  com- 
partments :  and  the  names  of  various  cities  and 
sea-ports,  with  which  Wardlaw  and  Son  did  busi- 
ness, were  printed  in  gold  letters  on  some  of 
these  compartments ;  on  others,  the  names  of 
persons;  and  on  two  compartments,  the  word 
"Miscellaneous."  Michael  brought  this  ma- 
chine in,  filled  with  a  correspondence  enough  to 
break  a  man's  heart  to  look  at. 

This  was  one  of  the  consequences  of  Wardlaw's 
position.  He  durst  not  let  his  correspondence 
be  read,  and  filtered,  in  the  outer  office :  he 
opened  the  whole  mass ;  sent  some  back  into  the 
outer  office :  then  touched  a  hand-bell,  and  a 
man  emerged  from  the  small  apartment  adjoin- 
ing his  own.  This  was  Mr.  Atkins,  his  short- 
hand writer.  He  dictated  to  this  man  some 
twenty  letters,  which  were  taken  down  in  short- 
hand ;  the  man  retired  to  copy  them,  and  write 
them  out  in  duplicate  from  his  own  notes,  and 
this  reduced  the  number  to  seven  ;  these  Wardlaw 
sat  down  to  write  himself,  and  lock  up  the  copies. 

While  he  was  writing  them,  he   received  a 


visitor  or  two,  whom  he  dispatched  as  quickly 
as  his  \etters. 

He  was  writing  his  last  letter,  when  he  heard 
in  the  outer  office  a  voice  he  thought  he  knew, 
ife  got  up  and  listened.  It  was  so.  Of  all  the 
voices  in  the  city,  this  was  the  one  it  most  dis- 
mayed him  to  hear  in  his  office  at  the  present 
crisis. 

He  listened  on,  and  satisfied  himself  that  a 
fatal  blow  was  coming.  He  then  walked  quietly 
to  his  table,  seated  himself,  and  prepared  to  re- 
ceive the  stroke  with  external  composure. 

Penfold  announced,  "  Mr.  Burtenshaw." 

"Show  him  in,"  said  Wardlaw,  quietly. 

Mr.  Burtenshaw,  one  of  the  managers  of  Mor- 
land's  bank,  came  in,  and  Wardlaw  motioned 
him  courteously  to  a  chair,  while  he  finished  his 
letter,  which  took  only  a  few  moments. 

While  he  was  sealing  it,  he  half  turned  to  his 
visitor,  and  said,  "No  bad  news  ?  Morland's  is 
safe  of  course." 

"Well,"  said  Burtenshaw,  "there  is  a  run 
upon  the  bank, — a  severe  one.  We  could  not 
hope  to  escape  the  effects  of  a  panic." 

He  then,  after  an  uneasy  pause,  and  with  ap- 
parent reluctance,  added,  "I  am  requested  by 
the  other  directors  to  assure  you  it  is  their  pres- 
ent extremity  alone,  that —  In  short,  we  are  real- 
ly compelled  to  beg  you  to  repay  the  amount  ad- 
advanced  to  you  by  the  bank." 

Wardlaw  showed  no  alarm,  but  great  surprise. 
This  was  clever ;  for  he  felt  great  alarm,  and  no 
surprise. 

"The  £81,000," said  he.  "Why,  that  ad- 
vance was  upon  the  freight  of  the  Proserpine. 
Forty-five  thousand  ounces  of  gold.  She  ought 
to  be  here  by  this  time.  She  is  in  the  Channel 
at  this  moment,  no  doubt." 

"  Excuse  me ;  she  is  overdue,  and  the  under- 
writers uneasy.     I  have  made  inquiries." 

"At  any  rate,  she  is  fully  insured,  and  you  hold 
the  policies.  Besides,  the  name  of  Wardlaw  on 
your  books  should  stand  for  bullion." 

Burtenshaw  shook  his  head.  "  Names  are  at 
a  discount  to-day,  sir.  We  can't  pay  you  down 
on  the  counter.  Why,  our  depositors  look  cross 
at  Bank  of  England  notes." 

To  an  inquiry,  half  ironical,  whether  the  man- 
agers really  expected  him  to  find  £81,000  cash 
at  a  few  hours'  notice,  Burtenshaw  replied,  sor- 
rowfully, that  they  felt  for  his  difficulty  whilst 
deploring  their  own  ;  but  that,  after  all,  it  was  a 
debt ;  and,  in  short,  if  he  could  find  no  means  of 
paying  it,  they  must  suspend  payment  for  a  time, 
and  issue  a  statement — and — 

He  hesitated  to  complete  his  sentence,  and 
Wardlaw  did  it  for  him. 

"  And  ascribe  your  suspension  to  my  inability 
to  refund  this  advance?"  said  he,  bitterly. 

"I  am  afraid  that  is  the  construction  it  will 
bear." 

Wardlaw  rose,  to  intimate  he  had  no  more  to 
say. 

Burtenshaw,  however,  was  not  disposed  to  go 
without  some  clear  understanding.  "  May  I  say 
we  shall  hear  from  you,  sir  ?" 

"Yes." 

And  so  they  wished  each  other  good-morning  ; 
and  Wardlaw  sank  into  his  chair. 

In  that  quiet  dialogue,  ruin  had  been  inflicted 
and  received  without  any  apparent  agitation  ;  ay, 
and  worse  than  ruin, — exposure. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


43 


Morland's  suspension,  on  account  of  money 
lost  by  Wardlaw  and  Son,  would  at  once  bring 
old  Wardlaw  to  London,  and  the  affairs  of  the 
firm  would  be  investigated,  and  the  son's  false 
system  of  book-keeping  be  discovered. 

He  sat  stupefied  awhile,  then  put  on  his  hat, 
and  rushed  to  his  solicitor ;  on  the  way,  he  fell 
in  with  a  great  talker,  who  told  him  there  was  a 
rumor  the  Shannon  was  lost  in  the  Pacific. 

At  this  he  nearly  fainted  in  the  street ;  and 
his  friend  took  him  back  to  his  office  in  a  deplor- 
able condition.  All  this  time  he  had  been  feign- 
ing anxiety  about  the  Proserpine,  and  conceal- 
ing his  real  anxiety  about  the  Shannon.  To  do 
him  justice,  he  lost  sight  of  every  thing  in  the 
world  now  but  Helen.  He  sent  old  Penfold  in 
hot  haste  to  Lloyd's,  to  inquire  for  news  of  the 
ship  ;  and  then  he  sat  down  sick  at  heart ;  and 
all  he  could  do  now  was  to  open  her  portrait, 
and  gaze  at  it  through  eyes  blinded  with  tears. 
Even  a  vague  rumor,  which  he  hoped  might  be 
false,  had  driven  all  his  commercial  manoeuvres 
out  of  him,  and  made  all  other  calamities  seem 
small. 

And  so  they  all  are  small,  compared  with  the 
death  of  the  creatm-e  we  love. 

While  he  sat  thus,  in  a  stupor  of  fear  and  grief, 
he  heard  a  well-known  voice  in  the  outer  office  ; 
and,  next  after  Burtenshaw's,  it  was  the  one  that 
caused  him  the  most  apprehension.  It  was  his 
father's. 

Wardlaw  senior  rarely  visited  the  office  now  ; 
and  this  was  not  his  hour.  So  Arthur  knew 
something  extraordinary  had  broughS  him  up  to 
town.  And  he  could  not  doubt  that  it  was  the 
panic,  and  that  he  had  been  to  Morland's,  or 
would  go  there  in  course  of  the  day ;  but,  in- 
deed, it  was  more  probable  that  he  had  already 
heard  something,  and  was  come  to  investigate. 
Wardlaw  senior  entered  the  room. 
*  *  Good-morning,  Arthur,"  said  he.  ' '  I've  got 
good  news  for  you." 

Arthur  was  quite  startled  by  an  announce- 
ment that  accorded  so  little  with  his  expecta- 
tions „ 

"  Good  news — for  me?"  said  he,  in  a  faint,  in- 
credulous tone. 

"  Ay,  glorious  news  !  Haven't  you  been  anx- 
ious about  the  Shannon  ?  I  have ;  more  anx- 
ious than  I  would  own. " 

Arthur  started  up.  "The  Shannon!  God 
bless  you,  father." 

"  She  lies  at  anchor  in  the  Mersey,"  roared 
the  old  man,  with  all  a  father's  pride  at  bring- 
ing such  good  news.  "Why,  the  Rollestons 
will  be  in  London  at  2  15.  See,  here  is  his  tele- 
gram." 

At  this  moment  in  ran  Penfold,  to  tell  them 
that  the  Shannon  was  up  at  Lloyd's — had  anchor- 
ed off  Liverpool  last  night. 

There  was  hearty  shaking  of  hands,  and  Ar- 
thur Wardlaw  Avas  the  happiest  man  in  London 
— for  a  little  while. 

"  Got  the  telegram  at  Elm-trees,  this  morn- 
ing, and  came  up  by  the  first  express,"  said 
Wardlaw  senior. 

The  telegram  was  from  Sir  Edward  Rolleston. 
"  Reached  Liverpool  last  night ;  will  be  at  Eus- 
ton,  two-fifteen.'''' 

"  Not  a  word  from  herV 
"  Oh,  there  was  no  time  to  write  ;  and  ladies 
do  not  use  the  telegram."     He  added  slyly, 


"  Perhaps  she  thought  coming  in  person  would 
do  as  well,  or  better,  eh  !" 

"But  why  does  he  telegraph  you  instead  of 
me?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  What  does  it  mat- 
ter ?  Yes,  I  do  know.  It  was  settled  months 
ago  that  he  and  Helen  should  come  to  me  at  Elm- 
trees,  so  I  was  the  proper  person  to  telegraph. 
I'll  go  and  meet  them  at  the  station  ;  there  is 
plenty  of  time.  But,  I  say,  Arthur,  have  you 
seen  the  papers  ?  Bartley  Brothers  obliged  to 
wind  up.  Maple  and  Cox,  of  Liverpool,  gone; 
Atlantic  trading.  Terry  and  Brown  suspended, 
International  credit  gone.  Old  friends,  some  of 
these.  Hopley  and  Timmr,,  railway  contractors, 
failed,  sir ;  liabilities,  seven  hundred  thousand 
pounds  and  more." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Arthur,  pompously  :  "  1866 
will  long  be  remembered  for  its  revelations  of 
commercial  morality." 

The  old  gentleman,  on  this,  asked  his  son,  with 
excusable  vanity,  whether  he  had  done  ill  in  steer- 
ing clear  of  speculation  ;  he  then  congratulated 
him  on  having  listened  to  good  advice,  and  stuck 
to  legitimate  business.  "  I  must  say,  Arthur," 
added  he,  "your  books  are  models  for  any  trad- 
ing firm." 

Arthur  winced  in  secret  under  this  praise,  for 
it  occurred  to  him  that  in  a  few  days  his  father 
would  discover  those  books  were  all  a  sham,  and 
the  accounts  a  fabrication. 

However,  the  unpleasant  topic  was  soon  inter- 
rupted, and  effectually,  too  ;  for  Michael  looked 
in  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  on  his  benevolent 
countenance,  and  said,  "  Gentlemen,  such  an 
arrival !  Here  is  Miss  Rouse's  sweetheart,  that 
she  dreamed  was  drowned." 

"  What  is  the  man  to  me  ?"  said  Arthur,  pee- 
vishly. He  did  not  recognize  Wylie  under  that 
title. 

"La,  Mr.  Arthur!  why,  he  is  the  mate  of  the 
Proserpine,"  said  Penfold. 

"What!  Wylie!  Joseph  Wylie  ?"  cried  Ar- 
thur, in  a  sudden  excitement,  that  contrasted 
strangely  with  his  previous  indifference. 

"What  is  that  ?"  cried  Wardlaw  senior ;  "  the 
Proserpine  :  show  him  in  at  once." 

Now  this  caused  Arthur  Wardlaw  consider- 
able anxiety ;  for  obvious  reasons  he  did  not 
want  his  father  and  this  sailor  to  exchange  a 
word  together.  However,  that  was  inevitable 
now  ;  the  door  opened,  and  the  bronzed  face  and 
sturdy  figure  of  Wylie,  clad  in  a  rough  pea-jack- 
et, came  slouching  in. 

Arthur  went  hastily  to  meet  him,  and  gave 
him  an  expressive  look  of  warning,  even  while 
he  welcomed  him  in  cordial  accents. 

"  Glad  to  see  you  safe  home,"  said  Wardlaw 
senior. 

"Thank  ye,  guv'nor,"said  Wylie.  "Had  a 
squeak  for  it,  this  time." 

"  Where  is  your  ship  ?" 

Wylie  shook  his  head  sorrowfully.  "Bottom 
of  the  Pacific." 

"  Good  heavens  !     What !  is  she  lost?" 

"  That  she  is,  sir :  foundered  at  sea,  1 200  miles 
from  the  Horn,  and  more." 

"  And  the  freight  ?  the  gold  ?"  put  in  Arthur, 
with  well-feigned  anxiety. 

"Not  an  ounce  saved,"  said  Wylie,  disconso- 
lately. "  A  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  pounds 
gone  to  the  bottom."  ■  ■■*- 


41 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"Good  heavens!" 

"Ye see,  sir, " said  Wylie,  "the  ship  encounter- 
ed one  gale  after  another,  and  labored  a  good 
deal,  first  and  last ;  and  we  all  say  her  seams 
must  have  opened  ;  for  we  never  could  find  the 
leak  that  sunk  her, "  and  he  cast  a  meaning  glance 
at  Arthur  Wardlaw. 

"No  matter  how  it  happened,"  said  the  old 
merchant:  "are  we  insured  to  the  full:  that  is 
the  first  question  ?" 

"To  the  last  shilling." 

"Well  done,  Arthur." 

"But  still  it  is  most  unlucky.  Some  weeks 
must  elapse  before  the  insurances  can  be  realized, 
and  a  portion  of  the  gold  was  paid  for  in  bills  at 
short  date." 

"The  rest  in  cash?" 

"  Cash  and  merchandise." 

"Then  there  is  the  proper  margin.  Draw  on 
my  private  account,  at  the  Bank  of  England." 

These  few  simple  words  showed  the  struggling 
young  merchant  a  way  out  of  all  his  difficulties. 

His  heart  leaped  so  "he  dared  not  reply,  lest  he 
should  excite  the  old  gentleman's  suspicions. 

But  ere  he  could  well  draw  his  breath  for  joy, 
came  a  freezer. 

"  Mr.  Burtenshaw,  sir." 

"Bid  him  wait,"  said  Arthur,  aloud,  and  cast 
a  look  of  great  anxiety  on  Penfold,  which  the 
poor  old  man,  with  all  his  simplicity,  comprehend- 
ed well  enough. 

"Burtenshaw,  from  Morland's.  What  does 
he  want  of  us  ?"  said  Wardlaw  senior,  knitting 
his  brows. 

Arthur  turned  cold  all  over.  ' '  Perhaps  to  ask 
me  not  to  draw  out  my  balance.  It  is  less  than 
nsual :  but  they  are  run  upon  ;  and,  as  you  are 
good  enough  to  let  me  draw  on  you —  By-the- 
by,  perhaps  you  will  sign  a  check  before  you  go 
to  the  station." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,  till  I  have  consulted 
Penfold  :  the  gold  was  a  large  and  advantageous 
purchase,  sir." 

"  No  doubt ;  no  doubt.  I'll  give  you  my  sig- 
nature ;  and  you  can  fill  in  the  amonnt." 

He  drew  a  check  in  favor  of  Arthur  Wardlaw, 
signed  it,  and  left  him  to  fill  in  the  figures. 

He  then  looked  at  his  watch,  and  remarked 
they  would  barely  have  time  to  get  to  the  station. 

"  Good  heavens !"  cried  Arthur;  "andl  can't 
go.  I  must  learn  the  particulars  of  the  loss  of 
the  Proserpine,  and  prepare  the  statement  at  once 
for  the  underwriters." 

"  Well,  never  mind.     I  can  go." 

"  But  what  will  she  think  of  me  ?  I  ought  to 
be  the  first  to  welcome  her." 

"  I'll  make  your  excuses." 

"  No,  no  ;  say  nothing  :  after  all,  it  was  you 
who  received  the  telegram :  so  you  naturally 
meet  her;  but  you  will  bring  her  here,  father: 
you  won't  whisk  my  darling  down  to  Elm-trees, 
till  you  have  blest  me  with  the  sight  of  her." 

"I  will  not  be  so  cruel,  fond  lover,"  said  old 
Wardlaw,  laughing,  and  took  up  his  hat  and  gloves 
to  go. 

Arthur  went  to  the  door  with  him,  in  great 
anxiety,  lest  he  should  question  Burtenshaw : 
but,  peering  into  the  outer  office,  he  observed 
Bui-tenshaw  was  not  there.  Michael  had  caught 
his  employer's  anxious  look,  and  conveyed  the 
banker  into  the  small  room  where  the  short-hand 


writer  was  at  work.  But  Burtenshaw  was  one 
of  a  struggling  firm ;  to  him  every  minute  was 
an  hour:  he  had  sat,  fuming  with  impatience,  so 
long  as  he  heard  talking  in  the  inner  office  ;  and, 
the  moment  it  ceased,  he  took  the  liberty  of  coming 
in :  so  that  he  opened  the  side  door  just  as  Ward- 
law  senior  was  passing  through  the  centre  door. 

Instantly  Wardlaw  junior  whipped  before  him, 
to  hide  his  figure  from  his  retreating  father. 

Wylie — who  all  this  time  had  been  sitting  si- 
lent, looking  from  one  to  the  other,  and  quietly 
puzzling  out  the  game,  as  well  as  he  could — ob- 
served this  movement,  and  grinned. 

As  for  Arthur  Wardlaw,  he  saw  his  father  safe 
out,  then  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  walked  to  his 
office  table,  and  sat  down,  and  began  to  fill  in 
the  check. 

Burtenshaw  drew  near,  and  said,  "  I  am  in- 
structed to  say  that  fifty  thousand  pounds  on  ac- 
count will  be  accepted." 

Perhaps  if  this  proposal  had  been  made  a  few 
seconds  sooner,  the  ingenious  Arthur  would  have 
availed  himself  of  it :  but  as  it  was,  he  preferred 
to  take  the  high  and  mighty  tone.  "I  decline 
any  concession,"  said  he.  "Mr.  Penfold,  take 
this  check  to  the  Bank  of  England.  £81,647  10s. 
That  is  the  amount,  capital  and  interest,  up  to 
noon  this  day  :  hand  the  sum  to  Mr.  Burtenshaw, 
taking  his  receipt,  or,  if  he  prefers  it,  pay  it 
across  the  counter,  to  my  credit.  That  will  per- 
haps arrest  the  run." 

Burtenshaw  stammered  out  his  thanks. 

Wardlaw  cut  him  short.  "Good-morning, 
sir,"  said  he.  "  I  have  business  of  importance. 
Good-day,"  and  bowed  him  out. 

"  This  is  a  high-flier,"  thought  Burtenshaw.. 

Wardlaw  then  opened  the  side  door,  and  call- 
ed his  short-hand  writer. 

"  Mr.  Atkins,  please  step  into  the  outer  office, 
and  don't  let  a  soul  come  in  to  me.  Mind,  I  am 
out  for  the  day.  Except  to  Miss  Rolleston  and 
her  father." 

He  then  closed  all  the  doors,  and  sunk  ex- 
hausted into  a  chnir,  muttering,  "Thank  Heav- 
en !  I  have  got  rid  of  them  all  for  an  hour  or 
two.     Noiv,  Wylie." 

Wylie  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  enter  upon  the 
required  subject. 

Said  he,  evasively,  "  Why,  guv'nor,  it  seems  to 
me  you  are  among  the  breakers  here  yourself." 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort,  if  you  have  managed 
your  work  cleverly.  Come,  tell  me  all,  before 
we  arte  interrupted  again." 

"Tell  ye  all  about  it!  Why,  there's  part  on't 
I  am  afraid  to  think  on  ;  let  alone  talk  about  it." 

"Spare  me  your  scruples,  and  give  me  your 
facts,"  said  Wardlaw,  coldly.  "First  of  all, 
did  you  succeed  in  shifting  the  bullion  as  agreed?" 

The  sailor  appeared  relieved  by  this  question. 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  said  he.  "  I  got  the 
bullion  safe  aboard  the  Shannon,  marked  for 
lead." 

"And  the  lead  on  board  the  Proserpine?" 

"Ay,  shipped  as  bullion." 

"Without  suspicion  ?" 

"Not  quite." 

"  Great  Heaven  !     Who?" 

"  One  clerk  at  the  shipping  agent's  scented 
something  queer,  I  think.  James  Seaton.  That 
was  the  name  he  ivent  by." 

"  Could  he  prove  any  thing  ?" 

"Nothing.      He  knew  nothing  for  certain; 


FOUL  PLAY. 


4S 


and  what  he  guessed  won't  never  be  known  in 
England  now."    And  Wylie  fidgeted  in  his  chair. 

Notwithstanding  this  assurance  Wardlaw  look- 
ed grave,  and  took  a  note  of  that  clerk's  name. 
Then  he  begged  Wylie  to  go  on.  "  Give  me  all 
the  details,"  said  he.  "  Leave  me  to  judge  their 
relative  value.     You  scuttled  the  ship?" 

"  Don't  say  that !  don't  say  that !"  cried  Wylie 
in  alow  but  eager  voice.  "Stone  walls  have  ears." 
Then  rather  more  loudly  than  was  necessary, 
"  Ship  sprung  aleak,  that  neither  the  captain, 
nor  I,  nor  any  body  could  find,  to  stop.  Me, 
and  my  men,  we  all  think  her  seams  opened, 
with  stress  of  weather."  Then,  lowering  his 
voice  again,  "Try  and  see  it  as  we  do;  and 
don't  you  ever  use  such  a  word  as  that  what 
come  out  of  your  lips  just  now.  We  pumped 
her  hard  ;  but  it  warn't  no  use.  She  filled,  and 
we  had  to  take  to  the  boats." 

' '  Stop  a  moment.  Was  there  any  suspicion 
excited  ?" 

"Not  among  the  crew:  and,  suppose  there 
was,  I  could  talk  'em  all  over  or  buy  'em  all  over, 
what  few  of  'em  is  left.  I've  got  'em  all  with  me 
in  one  house  :  and  they  are  all  square,  don't  you 
fear." 

"Well,  but  you  said  'among  the  crew!' 
Whom  else  can  we  have  to  fear  ?" 

"Why,  nobody.  To  be  sure,  one  of  the  pas- 
sengers was  down  on  me  ;  but  what  does  that 
matter  now  ?" 

• '  It  matters  greatly — is  matters  terribly.  Who 
was  this  passenger  ?" 

"  He  called  himself  the  Rev.  John  Hazel.  He 
suspected  something  or  other;  and  what  with 
listening  here,  and  watching  there,  he  judged  the 
ship  was  never  to  see  England,  and  I  always 
fancied  he  told  the  lady." 

"  What,  was  there  a  lady  there?'* 

"  Ay,  worse  luck,  sir ;  and  a  pretty  girl  she 
was:  coming  home  to  England  to  die  of  con 
sumption  ;  so  our  surgeon  told  me." 

"  Well,  never  mind  her.  The  clergyman  ! 
This  fills  me  with  anxiety.  A  clerk  suspecting 
us  at  Sydney,  and  a  passenger  suspecting  us  in 
the  vessel.  There  are  two  witnesses  against  us 
already." 

"No;  only  one." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"  Why,  White's  clerk  and  the  parson,  they 
was  one  man." 

Wardlaw  stared  in  utter  amazement. 

"Don't  ye  believe  me  ?"  said  Wylie.  "  I  tell 
ye  that  there  clerk  boarded  us  under  an  alia* 
He  had  shaved  off  his  beard  ;  but  bless  your 
heart,  I  knew  him  directly." 

"  He  came  to  verify  his  suspicions,"  suggested 
Wardlaw,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Not  he.  He  came  for  love  of  the  sick  girl, 
and  nothing  else :  and  you'll  never  see  either 
him  or  her,  if  that  is  any  comfort  to  you." 

"  Be  good  enough  to  conceal  nothing.  Facts 
must  be  faced." 

"That  is  too,  true  sir.  Well,  we  abandoned 
her  and  took  to  the  boats.     I  commanded  one." 

"And  Hudson  the  other?" 

"Hudson!    No." 

"  Why,  how  was  that  ?  and  what  has  become 
of  him  ?" 

"  What  has  become  of  Hudson  ?"  said  Wylie, 
with  a  start,  "  There's  a  question  !  And  not 
a  drop  to  wet  my  lips  and  warm  my  heart.     Is 


this  a  tale  to  tell  dry  ?  Can't  ye  spare  a  drop 
of  brandy  to  a  poor  devil  that  has  earned  ye 
£150,000,  and  risked  his  life  and  wrecked  his 
soul  to  do  jt?" 

Wardlaw  cast  a  glance  of  contempt  on  him, 
but  got  up  and  speedily  put  a  bottle  of  old  brandy, 
a  tumbler,  and  a  caraffe  of  water  on  the  table 
before  him. 

Wylie  drank  a  wineglassful  neat,  and  gave  a 
sort  of  sigh  of  satisfaction.  And  then  ensued  a 
dialogue,  in  which,  curiously  enough,  the  brave 
man  was  agitated,  and  the  timid  man  was  cool 
and  collected.  But  one  reason  was,  the  latter 
had  not  imagination  enough  to  realize  things  un- 
seen, though  he  had  caused  them. 

Wylie  told  him  how  Hudson  got  to  the  bottle, 
and  would  not  leave  the  ship.  "I  think  I  see 
him  now,  with  his  cutlass  in  one  hand  and  his 
rum-bottle  in  the  other,  and  the  waves  running 
over  his  poor,  silly  face, as  she  went  down.  Poor 
Hiram  !  he  and  I  had  made  many  a  trip  togeth- 
er, before  we  took  to  this." 

And  Wylie  shuddered,  and  took  another  gulp 
at  the  brandy. 

While  he  was  drinking  to  drown  the  picture, 
Wardlaw  was  calmly  reflecting  on  the  bare  fact. 
"Hum,"  said  he,  "we  must  use  that  circum- 
stance. I'll  get  it  into  the  journal.  Heroic 
captain.  Went  down-  with  the  ship.  Who  can 
suspect  Hudson  in  the  teeth  of  such  a  fact  ?  Now 
pray  go  on,  my  good  Wylie,  the  boats  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  had  the  surgeon,  and  ten  men, 
and  the  lady's  maid,  on  board  the  long-boat ; 
and  there  was  the  parson,  the  sick  lady,  and  five 
sailors  aboard  the  cutter.  We  sailed  together 
till  night,  steering  for  Juan  Fernandez  ;  then 
a  fog  came  on  and  we  lost  sight  of  the  cutter, 
and  I  altered  my  mind  and  judged  it  best  to  beat 
to  win'ard,  and  get  into  the  track  of  ships.  Which 
we  did,  and  were  nearly  swamped  in  a  sou'wester ; 
but  by  good  luck,  a  Yankee  whaler  picked  us  up, 
and  took  us  to  Buenos  Ayres,  where  we  shipped 
for  England,  what  was  left  of  us,  only  four  besides 
myself;  but  I  got  the  signatures  of  the  others  to 
my  tale  of  the  wreck.  It  is  all  as  square  as  a  die, 
I  tell  you." 

"Well  done.  Well  done.  But,  stop!  the 
other  boat,  with  that  sham  parson  on  board,  who 
knows  all.     She  will  be  picked  up,  too,  perhaps." 

"  There  is  no  chance  for  that.  She  was  out  of 
the  tracks  of  trade;  and,  I'll  tell  ye  truth,  sir."  He 
poured  out  half  a  tumbler  of  brandy,  and  drank 
a  part  of  it ;  and,  now,  for  the  first  time  his  hand 
trembled  as  he  lifted  the  glass.  "Some  fool 
had  put  the  main  of  her  provisions  aboard  the 
long-boat ;  that  is  what  sticks  to  me,  and  won't 
let  me  sleep.  We  took  a  chance,  but  we  didn't 
give  one.  I  think  I  told  you  there  was  a  wom- 
an aboard  the  cutter,  that  sick  girl,  sir.  Oh,  but 
it  was  hard  lines  for  her,  poor  thing  !  I  see  her 
pale  and  calm  ;  O  Lord,  so  pale  and  calm  ;  ev- 
ery night  of  my  life  ;  she  kneeled  aboard  the 
cutter  with  her  white  hands  a  clasped  together, 
praying." 

"Certainly,  it  is  all  very  shocking,"  said 
Wardlaw  ;  "  but  then  you  know,  if  they  had  es- 
caped, they  would  have  exposed  us.  Believe 
me,  it  is  all  for  the  best." 

Wylie  looked  at  him  with  wonder.  "Ay," 
said  he,  after  staring  at  him  in  wonder ;  "  you  can 
sit  here  at  your  ease,  and  doom  a  ship  and  risk 
her  people's  lives :  but  if  you  had  to  do  it,  and 


46 


FOUL  PLAY. 


see  it,  and  then  lie  awake  thinking  of  it,  you'd 
wish  all  the  gold  on  earth  had  been  in  hell  be- 
fore you  put  your  hand  to  such  a  piece  of  work." 

Wardlaw  smiled  a  ghastly  smile.  "In  short," 
said  he,  "you  don't  mean  to  take  the  three 
thousand'pounds  I  pay  you  for  this  little  job." 

"Oh  yes,  I  do ;  but  for  all  the  gold  in  Victoria 
I  wouldn't  do  such  a  job  again.  And  you  mark 
my  words,  sir,  we  shall  get  the  money,  and  no- 
body will  ever  be  the  wiser."  Wardlaw  rubbed 
his  hands  complacently :  his  egotism,  coupled 
with  his  want  of  imagination,  nearly  blinded 
him  to  every  thing  but  the  pecuniary  feature  of 
the  business.  "  But,"  continued  Wylie,  "  we 
shall  never  thrive  on  it.  We  have  sunk  a  good 
ship,  and  we  have  as  good  as  murdered  a  poor 
dying  girl." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  you  fool!"  cried  Ward- 
law,  losing  his  tang-froid  in  a  moment,  for  he 
heard  somebody  at  the  door. 

It  opened,  and  there  stood  a  military  figure  in 
a  travelling-cap — General  Rolleston. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

As  some  eggs  have  actually  two  yolks,  so  Arthur 
Wardlaw  had  two  hearts;  and,  at  sight  of  Helen's 
father,  the  baser  one  ceased  to  beat  for  a  while. 

He  ran  to  General  Rolleston,  shook  him  warm- 
ly by  the  hand,  and  welcomed  him  to  England 
with  sparkling  eyes. 

It  is  pleasant  to  be  so  welcomed,  and  the  state- 
ly soldier  returned  his  grasp  in  kind. 

"Is  Helen  with  you,  sir?"  said  Wardlaw, 
making  a  movement  to  go  to  the  door :  for  he 
thought  she  must  be  outside  in  the  cab. 

"  No,  she  is  not,"  said  General  Rolleston. 

"  There,  now," said  Arthur,  "that  cruel  father 
of  mine  has  broken  his  promise,  and  carried  her 
off  to  Elm-trees!" 

At  this  moment  Wardlaw  senior  returned,  to 
tell  Arthur  he  had  been  just  too  late  to  meet  the 
Rollestons.  "Oh,  here  he  is!"  said  he;  and 
there  were  fresh  greetings. 

"  Well,  but,"  said  Arthur,  "  where  is  Helen  !" 

"I  think  it  is  I  who  ought  to  ask  that  ques- 
tion," said  Rolleston,  gravely.  "I  telegraphed 
you  at  Elm-trees,  thinking  of  course  she  would 
come  with  you  to  meet  me  at  the  station.  It 
does  not  much  matter,  a  few  hours  ;  but  her  not 
coming  makes  me  uneasy,  for  her  health  was 
declining  when  she  left  me.  How  is  my  child, 
Mr.  Wardlaw  ?     Pray  tell  me  the  truth." 

Both  the  Wardlaws  looked  at  one  another, 
and  at  General  Rolleston,  and  the  elder  Ward- 
law  said  there  was  certainly  some  misunder- 
standing here.  "We  fully  believed  that  your 
daughter  was  coming  home  with  you  in  the 
Shannon." 

' '  Come  home  with  me  ?  Why,  of  course  not. 
She  sailed  three  weeks  before  me.  Good  Heav- 
ens !     Has  she  not  arrived  ?" 

"No,"  replied  old  Wardlaw,  "we  have  neither 
seen  nor  heard  of  her." 

"Why,  what  ship  did  she  sail  in?"  said  Ar- 
thur. 

"In  the  Proserpine." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


Arthur  Wardlaw  fixed  on  the  speaker  a 
gaze  full  of  horror ;  his  jaw  fell ;  a  livid  pallor 
spread  over  his  features ;  he  echoed  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  "  The  Prosperpine  ?"  and  turned  his 
scared  eyes  upon  Wylie,  who  was  himself  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  his  stalwart  frame  begin- 
ning to  tremble. 

'•The  sick  girl,"  murmured  Wylie,  and  a 
cold  sweat  gathered  on  his  brow. 

General  Rolleston  looked  from  one  to  another 
with  strange  misgivings,  which  soon  deepened 
into  a  sense  of  some  terrible  calamity ;  for  now 
a  strong  convulsion  swelled  Arthur  Wardlaw's 
heart ;  his  face  worked  fearfully ;  and,  with  a 
sharp  and  sudden  cry,  he  fell  forward  on  the 
table,  and  his  father's  arm  alone  prevented  him 
from  sinking  like  a  dead  man  on  the  floor.  Yet, 
though  crushed  and  helpless,  he  was  not  insensi- 
ble ;  that  blessing  was  denied  him. 

General  Rolleston  implored  an  explanation. 

Wylie,  with  downcast  and  averted  face,  be- 
gan to  stammer  a  few  disconnected  and  unin- 
telligible words  ;  but  old  Wardlaw  silenced  him 
and  said,  with  much  feeling,  "Let  none  but  a 
father  tell  him.  My  poor,  poor  friend1— the 
Proserpine  !     How  can  I  say  it  ?" 

"  Lost  at  sea,"  groaned  Wylie. 

At  these  fatal  words  the  old  warrior's  counte- 
nance grew  rigid  ;  his  large,  bony  hands  gripped 
the  back  of  the  chair  on  which  he  leaned,  and 
were  white  with  their  own  convulsive  force ; 
and  he  bowed  his  head  under  the  blow,  without 
one  word. 

His  was  an  agony  too  great  and  mute  to  be 
spoken  to ;  and  there  was  silence  in  the  room, 
broken  only  by  the  hysterical  moans  of  the  mis- 
erable plotter,  who  had  drawn  down  this  ca- 
lamity on  his  own  head.  He  was  in  no  state  to 
be  left  alone ;  and  even  the  bereaved  father 
found  pity  in  his  desolate  heart  for  one  who  loved 
his  lost  child  so  well ;  and  the  two  old  men  took 
him  home  between  them,  in  a  helpless  and  pitia- 
ble condition. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

But  this  utter  prostration  of  his  confederate 
began  to  alarm  Wylie,  and  rouse  him  to  exertion. 
Certainly,  he  was  very  sorry  for  what  he  had 
done,  and  would  have  undone  it  and  forfeited 
his  £3000  in  a  moment,  if  he  could.  But,  as 
he  could  not  undo  the  crime,  he  was  all  the  more 
determined  to  reap  the  reward.  Why,  that 
£3000,  for  aught  he  knew,  was  the  price  of  his 
soul ;  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  let  his  soul  go 
gratis. 

He  finished  the  rest  of  the  brandy,  and  went 
after  his  men,  to  keep  them  true  to  him  by 
promises  ;  but  the  next  day  he  came  to  the  office 
in  Fenchurch  Street,  and  asked  anxiously  for 
Wardlaw.  Wardlaw  had  not  arrived.  He  wait- 
ed, but  the  merchant  never  came ;  and  Michael 
told  him,  with  considerable  anxiety,  that  this 
was  the  first  time  his  young  master  had  missed 
coming  this  five  years. 

In  course  of  the  day,  several  underwriters 
came  in,  with  long  faces,  to  verify  the  report 
which  had  now  reached  Lloyd's,  that  the  Pros- 
erpine had  foundered  at  sea. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


47 


"It  is  too  true,"  said  Michael;  "and  poor 
Mr.  Wylie  here  has  barely  escaped  with  his  life. 
He  was  mate  of  the  ship,  gentlemen." 

Upon  this,  each  visitor  questioned  Wylie,  and 
Wylie  returned  the  same  smooth  answer  to  all 
inquiries:  one  heavy  gale  after  another  had  so 
tried  the  ship  that  her  seams  had  opened,  and 
let  in  more  water  than  all  the  exertions  of  the 
crew  and  passengers  could  discharge ;  at  last, 
they  had  taken  to  the  boats  ;  the  long-boat  had 
been  picked  up  :  the  cutter  had  never  been  heard 
of  since. 

They  nearly  all  asked  after  the  ship's  log. 

"I  have  got  it  safe  at  home,"  said  he.  It 
was  in  his  pocket  all  the  time. 

Some  asked  him  where  the  other  survivors 
were.  He  told  them  five  had  shipped  on  board 
the  Maria,  and  three  were  with  him  at  Poplar, 
one  disabled  by  the  hardships  they  had  all  en- 
dured. 

One  or  two  complained  angrily  of  Mr.  Ward- 
law's  absence  at  such  a  time. 

"Well,  good  gentlemen,"  said  Wylie,  "I'll 
tell  ye.  Mr.  Wardlaw's  sweetheart  was  aboard 
the  ship.  He  is  a'most  broken-hearted.  He 
vallied  her  more  than  all  the  gold,  that  you  may 
take  your  oath  on." 

This  stroke,  coming  from  a  rough  fellow  in  a 
pea-jacket,  who  looked  as  simple  as  he  was  cun- 
ning, silenced  remonstrance,  and  went  far  to 
disarm  suspicion  ;  and  so  pleased  Michael  Pen- 
fold,  that  he  said,  "  Mr.  Wylie,  you  are  inter- 
ested in  this  business,  would*  you  mind  going  to 
Mr.  Wardlaw's  house,  and  asking  what  we  are 
to  do  next?  I'll  give  you  his  address,  and  a 
line,  begging  him  to  make  an  effort  and  see  you. 
Business  is  the  heart's  best  ointment.  Eh,  dear 
Mr.  Wylie,  I  have  known  grief  too ;  and  I  think 
I  should  have  gone  road  when  they  sent  my 
poor  son  away,  but  for  business,  especially  the 
summing  up  of  long  columns,  etc." 

Wylie  called  at  the  house  in  Russell  Square, 
and  asked  to  see  Mr.  Wardlaw. 

The  servant  shook  his  head.  "You  can't 
see  him ;  he  is  very  ill." 

"  Very  ill  ?"  said  Wylie.  "  I'm  sorry  for  that. 
Well,  but  I  sha'n't  make  him  any  worse ;  and 
Mr.  Penfold  says  I  must  see  him.  It  is  very  par- 
ticular, I  tell  you.  He  won't  thank  you  for  re- 
fusing me,  when  he  comes  to  hear  of  it. " 

He  said  this  very  seriously ;  and  the  servant, 
after  a  short  hesitation,  begged  him  to  sit  down 
in  the  passage  a  moment.  He  then  went  into 
the  dining-room,  and  shortly  re-appeared,  hold- 
ing the  door  open.  Out  came,  not  Wardlaw 
junior,  but  Wardlaw  senior. 

"  My  son  is  in  no  condition  to  receive  you," 
said  he,  gravely ;  "  but  I  am  at  your  service. 
What  is  your  business  ?" 

Wylie  was  taken  off  his  guard,  and  stammered 
out  something  about  the  Shannon. 

"The  Shannon  !  What  have  you  to  do  with 
her?    You  belong  to  the  Proserpine." 

"Ay,  sir;  but  I  had  his  orders  to  ship  forty 
chests  of  lead  and  smelted  copper  on  board  the 
Shannon." 

"Well?" 

"  Ye  see,  sir,"  said  Wylie,  "Mr.  Wardlaw  was 
particular  about  them,  and  I  feel  responsible 
like,  having  shipped  them  aboard  another  ves- 
sel." 

"  Have  you  not  the  captain's  receipt  ?" 


"That  I  have,  sir,  at  home.  But  you  could 
hardly  read  it  for  salt  water." 

"Well,"  said  Wardlaw  senior,  "I  will  direct 
our  agent  at  Liverpool  to  look  after  them,  and 
send  them  up  at  once  to  my  cellars  in  Fenchurch 
Street.  Forty  chests  of  lead  and  copper,  I  think 
you  said."  And  he  took  a  note  of  this  directly. 
Wylie  was  not  a  little  discomfited  at  this  unex- 
pected turn  things  had  taken ;  but  he  held  his 
tongue  now,  for  fear  of  making  bad  worse. 
Wardlaw  senior  went  on  to  say  that  he  should 
have  to  conduct  the  business  of  the  firm  for  a 
time,  in  spite  of  his  old  age  and  failing  health. 

This  announcement  made  Wylie  perspire  with 
anxiety,  and  his  three  thousand  pounds  seemed 
to  melt  away  from  him. 

"But  never  mind,"  said  old  Wardlaw;  "I 
am  very  glad  you  came.  In  fact,  you  are  the 
very  man  I  wanted  to  see.  My  poor  afflicted 
friend  has  asked  after  you  several  times.  Be 
good  enough  to  follow  me." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room,  and 
there  sat  the  sad  father  in  all  the  quiet  dignity 
of  calm,  unfathomable  sorrow. 
•  Another  gentleman  stood  upon  the  rug  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  waiting  for  Mr.  Wardlaw ; 
this  was  the  family  physician,  who  had  just  come 
down  from  Arthur's  bedroom,  and  had  entered 
by  another  door  through  the  drawing-room. 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  Wardlaw,  anxiously, 
"  what  is  your  report  ?" 

"Not  so  good  as  I  could  wish;  but  nothing 
to  excite  immediate  alarm.  Overtaxed  brain, 
sir,  weakened  and  unable  to  support  this  calami- 
ty. However,  we  have  reduced  the  fever;  the 
symptoms  of  delirium  have  been  checked,  and  I 
think  we  shall  escape  brain  fever  if  he  is  kept 
quiet.  I  could  not  have  said  as  much  this  morn- 
ing." 

The  doctor  then  took  his  leave,  with  a  prom- 
ise to  call  next  morning ;  and,  as  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  Wardlaw  turned  to  General  Rolleston, 
and  said,  "Here  is  Wylie,  sir.  Come  forward, 
my  man,  and  speak  to  the  General.  He  wants 
to  know  if  you  can  point  out  to  him  on  the  chart 
the  very  spot  where  the  Proserpine  was  lost?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Wylie,  "I  think  I  could." 

The  great  chart  of  the  Pacific  was  then  spread 
out  upon  the  table,  and  rarely  has  a  chart  been 
examined  as  this  was,  with  the  bleeding  heart 
as  well  as  the  straining  eye. 

The  rough  sailor  became  an  oracle ;  the  others 
hung  upon  his  words,  and  followed  his  brown 
finger  on  the  chart  with  fearful  interest. 

"Ye  see,  sir,"  said  he,  addressing  the  old  mer- 
chant, for  there  was  something  on  his  mind  that 
made  him  avoid  speaking  directly  to  General 
Rolleston,  "  when  we  came  out  of  Sydney,  the 
wind  being  south  and  by  west,  Hudson  took  the 
northerly  course  instead  of  running  through 
Cook's  Straits.  The  weather  freshened  from  the 
same  quarter,  so  that,  with  one  thing  and  an- 
other, by  when  we  were  a  month  out,  she  was 
five  hundred  miles  or  so  nor'ard  of  her  true 
course.  But  that  wasn't  all;  when  the  leak 
gained  on  us,  Hudson  ran  the  ship  three  hundred 
miles  by  my  reckoning  to  the  nor'east ;  and,  I 
remember,  the  day  before  she  foundered,  he  told 
me  she  was  in  latitude  forty,  and  Easter  Island 
bearing  due  north." 

"  Here  is  the  spot,  then,"  said  General  Rolles- 
ton, and  placed  his  finger  on  the  spot. 


43 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"Ay,  sir,"  said  Wylie,  addressing  the  mer- 
chant ;  * '  but  she  ran  about  eighty-five  miles  af- 
ter that,  on  a  northerly  course — no — wind  on 
her  starboard  quarter, — and,  being  deep  in  the 
water,  she'd  make  lee  way, — say  eighty-two  miles, 
nor'east  by  east." 

The  General  took  eighty-two  miles  off  the 
scale,  with  a  pair  of  dividers,  and  set  out  that 
distance  on  the  chart.  He  held  the  instrument 
fixed  on  the  point  thus  obtained. 

Wylie  eyed  the  point,  and,  after  a  moment's 
consideration,  nodded  his  head. 

"There,  or  thereabouts,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  looking  at  the  merchant. 

A  pause  ensued,  and  the  two  old  men  exam- 
ined the  speck  pricked  on  the  map,  as  if  it  were 
the  waters  covering  the  Proserpine. 

"  Now,  sir,"  said  Rolleston,  "trace  the  course 
of  the  boats;"  and  he  handed  Wylie  a  pencil. 

The  sailor  slowly  averted  his  head,  but  stretch- 
ed out  his  hand  and  took  it,  and  traced  two  lines, 
the  one  short  and  straight,  running  nearly  north- 
east. "That's  the  way  the  cutter  headed  when 
we  lost  her  in  the  night." 

The  other  line  ran  parallel  to  the  first  for  half 
an  inch,  then,  turning,  bent  backward  and  ran 
due  south. 

"  This  was  our  course,"  said  Wylie. 

General  Rolleston  looked  up,  and  said,  "Why 
did  you  desert  the  cutter?" 

The  mate  looked  at  old  Wardlaw,  and,  after 
some  hesitation,  replied:  "After  we  lost  sight 
of  her,  the  men  with  me  declared  that  we  could 
not  reach  either  Juan  Fernandez  or  Valpai'aiso 
with  our  stock  of  provisions,  and  insisted  on 
standing  for  the  sea-track  of  Australian  liners 
between  the  Horn  and  Sydney." 

This  explanation  was  received  in  dead  silence. 
Wylie  fidgeted,  and  his  eye  wandered  round  the 
room. 

General  Rolleston  applied  his  compasses  to  the 
chart.  "I find  that  the  Proserpine  was  not  one 
thousand  miles  from  Easter  Island.  Why  did 
you  not  make  for  that  land?" 

"We  had  no  charts,  sir,"  said  Wylie  to  the 
merchant,  "and  I'm  no  navigator." 

"I  see  no  land  laid  down  hereaway,  northeast 
of  the  spot  where  the  ship  went  down." 

"No,"  replied  Wylie,  "that's  what  the  men 
said  when  they  made  me  'bout  ship." 

"  Then  why  did  you  lead  the  way  north-east 
at  all?" 

"I'm  no  navigator,"  answered  the  man  sullen- 
ly. 

He  then  suddenly  stammered  out:  "Ask  my 
men  what  we  went  through.  "Why,  sir  "(to 
Wardlaw),  "I  can  hardly  believe  that  I  am 
alive,  and  sit  here  talking  to  you  about  this 
cursed  business.  And  nobody  offers  me  a  drop 
of  any  thing." 

Wai'dlaw  poui*ed  him  out  a  tumbler  of  wine. 
His  brown  hand  trembled  a  little,  and  he  gulped 
the  wine  down  like  water. 

General  Rolleston  gave  Mr.  Wardlaw  a  look, 
and  Wylie  was  dismissed.  He  slouched  down 
the  street  all  in  a  cold  perspiration ;  but  still 
clinging  to  his  three  thousand  pounds,  though 
small  was  now  his  hope  of  ever  seeing  it. 

When  he  was  gone  General  Rolleston  paced 
that  large  and  gloomy  room  in  silence.  Ward- 
law  eyed  him  with  the  greatest  interest,  but 
avoided  speaking  to  him.     At  last  he  stopped 


short,  and   stood    erect,  as  veterams    halt,  and 
pointed  down  at  the  chart. 

"I'll  start  at  once  for  that  spot,"  said  he. 
"I'll  go  in  the  next  ship  bound  to  Valparaiso, 
there  I'll  charter  a  small  vessel,  and  ransack 
those  waters  for  some  trace  of  my  poor  lost 
girl." 

"  Can  you  think  of  no  better  way  than  that?" 
said  old  Wardlaw,  gently,  and  with  a  slight  tone 
of  reproach. 

"No, — not  at  this  moment.  Oh  yes,  by-the- 
by,  the  Greyhound  and  Dreadnaught  are  going 
out  to  survey  the  islands  of  the  Pacific.  I  have 
interest  enough  to  get  a  berth  in  the  Greyhound." 

"  What !  go  in  a  government  ship !  under  the 
orders  of  a  man,  under  the  orders  of  another  man, 
under  the  orders  of  a  Board.  Why,  if  you  heard 
our  poor  girl  was  alive  upon  a  rock,  the  Dread- 
naught  would  be  sure  to  run  up  a  bunch  of  red- 
tape  to  the  fore  that  moment  to  recall  the  Grey- 
hound, and  the  Greyhound  would  go  back.  No," 
said  he,  rising  suddenly,  and  confronting  the 
General,  and  with  the  color  mounting  for  once 
in  his  sallow  face,  "you  sail  in  no  bottom  but 
one  freighted  by  Wardlaw  and  Son,  and  the  cap- 
tain shall  be  under  no  orders  but  yours.  We 
have  bought  the  steam-sloop  Springbok,  seven 
hundred  tons.  I'll  victual  her  for  a  year,  man 
her  well,  and  you  shall  go  out  in  her  in  less 
than  a  week.     I  give  you  my  hand  on  that." 

They  grasped  hands. 

But  this  sudden  warmth  and  tenderness,  com- 
ing from  a  man  habitually  cold,  overpowered  the 
stout  General.  "  What,  sir,"  he  faltered ;  "  your 
own  son  lies  in  danger,  yet  your  heart  goes  so 
with  me, — such  goodness, — it  is  too  much  for 
me." 

"No,  no,"  faltered  the  merchant,  affected  in 
his  turn ;  "  it  is  nothing.  Your  poor  girl  was 
coming  home  in  that  cursed  ship  to  marry  my 
son.  Yes,  he  lies  ill  for  love  of  her  ;  God  help 
him  and  me  too  ;  but  you  most  of  all.  Don't, 
General ;  don't !  We  have  got  work  to  do  ;  we 
must  be  brave,  sir ;  brave,  I  say,  and  compose 
ourselves.  Ah,  my  friend,  you  and  I  are  of  one 
age ;  and  this  is  a  heavy  blow  for  us :  and  we 
are  friends  no  more ;  it  has  made  us  brothers : 
she  was  to  be  my  child  as  well  as  yours ;  well, 
now  she  is  my  child,  and  our  hearts  they  bleed 
together."  At  this,  the  truth  must  be  told,  the 
two  stout  old  men  embraced  one  another  like 
two  women,  and  cried  together  a  little. 

But  that  was  soon  over  with  such  men  as 
these.  They  sat  together  and  plunged  into  the 
details  of  the  expedition,  and  they  talked  them- 
selves into  hope. 

In  a  week  the  Springbok  steamed  down  the 
Channel  on  an  errand  inspired  by  love,  not  rea- 
son ;  to  cross  one  mighty  ocean,  and  grope  for  a 
lost  daughter  in  another. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

We  return  to  the  cutter  and  her  living 
freight. 

After  an  anxious  but  brief  consultation,  it 
was  agreed  that  their  best  chance  was  to  trav- 
erse as  many  miles  of  water  as  possible,  while 
the  wind  was  fair;  by  this  means  they  would 
increase  their  small  chance  of  being  picked  up, 


FOUL  PLAY. 


40 


and  also  of  falling  in  with  land,  and  would,  at 
all  events,  sail  into  a  lovely  climate,  where  in- 
tense cold  was  unknown,  and  gales  of  wind  un- 
common. Mr.  Hazel  advised  them  to  choose  a 
skipper,  and  give  him  absolute  power,  especially 
over  the  provisions.  They  assented  to  this.  He 
then  recommended  Cooper  for  that  post.  But 
they  had  not  fathomed  the  sterling  virtues  of 
that  taciturn  seaman  ;  so  they  offered  the  com- 
mand to  Welch  instead. 

"Me  put  myself  over  Sam  Cooper!"  said 
he;  "not  likely." 

Then  their  choice  fell  upon  Michael  Morgan. 
The  other  sailors'  names  were  Prince,  Fenner, 
and  Mackintosh. 

Mr.  Hazel  urged  Morgan  to  put  the  crew  and 
passengers  on  short  allowance  at  once,  viz.  two 
biscuits  a  day,  and  four  table-spoonfuls  of  water : 
but  Morgan  was  a  common  sailor ;  he  could  not 
see  clearly  very  far  ahead ;  and,  moreover,  his 
own  appetite  counteracted  this  advice  ;  he  dealt 
out  a  pound  of  biscuit  and  an  ounce  of  ham  to 
each  person,  night  and  morning,  and  a  pint  of 
water  in  course  of  the  day. 

Mr.  Hazel  declined  his  share  of  the  ham,  and 
begged  Miss  Rolleston  so  earnestly  not  to  touch 
it,  that  she  yielded  a  silent  compliance. 

On  the  fourth  day  the  sailors  were  all  in  good 
spirits,  though  the  provisions  were  now  very  low. 
They  even  sang,  and  spun  yarns.  This  was  part- 
ly owing  to  the  beauty  of  the  weather. 

On  the  fifth  day  Morgan  announced  that  he 
could  only  serve  out  one  biscuit  per  day  :  and 
this  sudden  decline  caused  some  dissatisfaction 
and  alarm. 

Next  day,  the  water  ran  so  low,  that  only  a 
teaspoonful  was  served  out  night  and  morning. 

There  were  murmurs  and  forebodings. 

In  all  heavy  trials  and  extremities  some  man 
or  other  reveals  great  qualities,  that  were  latent 
in  him,  ay,  hidden  from  himself.  And  this  gen- 
eral observation  was  verified  on  the  present  oc- 
casion, as  it  had  been  in  the  Indian  mutiny,  and 
many  other  crises.     Hazel  came  out. 

He  encouraged  the  men,  out  of  his  multifa- 
rious stores  of  learning.  He  related  at  length 
stories  of  wrecks  and  sufferings  at  sea ;  which, 
though  they  had  long  been  in  print,  were  most 
of  them  new  to  these  poor  fellows.  He  told 
them,  among  the  rest,  what  the  men  of  the 
Bona  Dea,  waterlogged  at  sea,  had  suffered, — 
twelve  days  without  any  food  but  a  rat  and  a 
kitten, — yet  had  all  survived.  He  gave  them 
some  details  of  the  Wager,  the  Grosvenor,  the 
Corbin,  the  Medusa;  but  above  all,  a  most 
minute  account  of  the  Bounty,  and  Bligh's 
wonderful  voyage  in  an  open  boat,  short  of  pro- 
visions. He  moralized  on  this,  and  showed  his 
fellow-sufferers  it  was  discipline  and  self-denial 
from  the  first  that  had  enabled  those  hungry 
spectres  to  survive,  and  to  traverse  two  thousand 
eight  hundred  miles  of  water,  in  those  very  seas ; 
and  that  in  spite  of  hunger,  thirst,  disease,  and 
rough  weather. 

By  these  means  he  diverted  their  minds  in 
some  degree  from  their  own  calamity,  and  taught 
them  the  lesson  they  most  needed. 

The  poor  fellows  listened  with  more  interest 
than  you  could  have  thought  possible  under  the 
pressure  of  bodily  distress.  And  Helen  Rolles- 
ton's  hazel  eye  dwelled  on  the  narrator  with  un- 
ceasing wonder. 

4 


Yes,  learning  and  fortitude,  strengthened  by 
those  great  examples  learning  furnishes,  main- 
tained a  superiority,  even  in  the  middle  of  the 
Pacific  ;  and  not  the  rough  sailors  only,  but  the 
lady  who  had  rejected  and  scorned  his  love, 
hung  upon  the  brave  student's  words :  she  was 
compelled  to  look  up,  with  wonder,  to  the  man 
she  had  hated  and  despised  in  her  hours  of  ease. 

On  the  sixth  day  the  provisions  failed  entirely. 
Not  a  crust  of  bread  :  not  a  drop  of  water. 

At  4  p.m.  several  flying-fish,  driven  into  the 
air  by  the  dolphins  and  cat-fish,  fell  into  the  sea 
again  near  the  boat,  and  one  struck  the  sail 
sharply,  and  fell  into  the  boat.  It  was  divided, 
and  devoured  raw,  in  a  moment. 

The  next  morning  the  wind  fell,  and,  by 
noon,  the  ocean  became  like  glass. 

The  horrors  of  a  storm  have  been  often  paint- 
ed; but  who  has  described,  or  can  describe,  the 
horrors  of  a  calm  to  a  boat-load  of  hungiy, 
thirsty  creatures,  whose  only  chances  of  salva- 
tion or  relief  are  wind  and  rain  ? 

The  beautiful,  remorseless  sky  was  one  vault 
of  purple,  with  a  great  flaming  jewel  in  the 
centre,  whose  vertical  rays  struck,  and  parched, 
and  scorched  the  living  sufferers ;  and  blistered 
and  baked  the  boat  itself,  so  that  it  hurt  their 
hot  hands  to  touch  it :  the  beautiful,  remorse- 
less ocean  wras  one  sheet  of  glass,  that  glared  in 
their  bloodshot  eyes,  and  reflected  the  intolerable 
heat  of  heaven  upon  these  poor  wretches,  who 
were  gnawed  to  death  with  hunger;  and  their 
raging  thirst  was  fiercer  still. 

Towards  afternoon  of  the  eighth  day,  Mackin- 
tosh dipped  a  vessel  in  the  sea,  with  the  manifest 
intention  of  drinking  the  salt  water. 

"  Stop  him  "  cried  Hazel,  in  great  agitation  ; 
and  the  others  seized  him,  and  overpowered  him  : 
he  cursed  them  with  such  horrible  curses,  that 
Miss  Rolleston  put  her  fingers  in  her  ears,  and 
shuddered  from  head  to  foot.  Even  this  was 
new  to  her,  to  hear  foul  language. 

A  calm  voice  rose  in  the  midst,  and  said : 
"Let  us  pray." 

There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  Mr.  Hazel 
kneeled  down  and  prayed  loud  and  fervently  ; 
and,  while  he  prayed,  the  furious  cries  subsided 
for  a  while,  and  deep  groans  only  were  heard. 
He  prayed  for  food,  for  rain,  for  wind,  for  Pa- 
tience. 

The  men  were  not  so  far  gone  but  they  could 
just  manage  to  say  "Amen." 

He  rose  from  his  knees,  and  gathered  the  pale 
faces  of  the  men  together  in  one  glance ;  and 
saw  that  intense  expression  of  agony  which 
physical  pain  can  mould  with  men's  features : 
and  then  he  strained  his  eyes  over  the  brassy 
horizon  ;  but  no  cloud,  no  veil  of  vapor  was  vis- 
ible. 
"Water,  writer  everywhere,  but  not  a  drop  to  drink." 

"We  must  be  mad,"  he  cried,  "to  die  of 
thirst  with  all  this  water  round  us." 

His  invention  being  stimulated  by  this  idea, 
and  his  own  dire  need,  he  eagerly  scanned  every 
thing  in  the  boat,  and  his  eyes  soon  lighted  on 
two  objects  disconnected  in  themselves,  but  it 
struck  him  he  could  use  them  in  combination. 
These  were  a  common  glass  bottle,  and  Miss 
Rolleston's  life-preserving  jacket,  that  served 
her  for  a  couch.  He  drew  this  garment  over 
his  knees,  and  considered  it  attentively ;  then 


50 


FOUL  PLAY. 


untwisted  the  brass  nozzle  through  which  the 
jacket  was  inflated,  and  so  left  a  tube,  some  nine 
inches  in  length,  hanging  down  from  the  neck 
of  the  garment. 

He  now  applied  his  breath  to  the  tube,  and 
the  jacket  swelling  rapidly  proved  that  the  whole 
receptacle  was  air-tight. 

He  then  allowed  the  air  to  escape.  Next,  he 
took  the  bottle  and  filled  it  with  water  from  the 
sea ;  then  he  inserted,  with  some  difficulty,  and 
great  care,  the  neck  of  the  bottle  into  the  orifice 
of  the  tube :  this  done,  he  detached  the  wi  e  of 
the  brass  nozzle,  and  whipped  the  tube  firmly 
round  the  neck  of  the  bottle. 

"Now,  light  a  fire,"  he  cried;  "no  matter 
what  it  costs." 

The  fore  thwart  was  chopped  up,  and  a  fire 
soon  spluttered  and  sparkled,  for  ten  eager  hands 
were  feeding  it :  the  bottle  was  then  suspended 
over  it,  and,  in  due  course,  the  salt  water  boiled 
and  threw  off  vapor,  and  the  belly  of  the  jacket 
began  to  heave  and  stir.  Hazel  then  threw 
cold  water  upon  the  outside,  to  keep  it  cool,  and, 
while  the  men  eagerly  watched  the  bubbling  bot- 
tle and  swelling  bag,  his  spirits  rose,  and  he 
took  occasion  to  explain  that  what  was  now  go- 
ing on  under  their  eyes  was,  after  all,  only  one 
of  the  great  processes  of  Nature,  done  upon  a 
small  scale.  "The  clouds,"  said  he  "are  but 
vapors  drawn  from  the  sea,  by  the  heat  of  the 
sun :  these  clouds  are  composed  of  fresh  water, 
and  so  the  steam,  we  are  now  raising  from  salt 
water  will  be  fresh.  We  can't  make  whiskey, 
or  brew  beer,  lads ;  but,  thank  Heaven,  we  can 
brew  water ;  and  it  is  worth  all  other  liquors 
ten  times  told." 

A  wild  "  hurrah  !"  greeted  these  words. 

But  every  novel  experiment  seems  doomed  to 
fail,  or  meet  with  some  disaster.  The  water  in 
the  bottle  had  been  reduced  too  low  by  vapor- 
ism,  and  the  bottle  burst  suddenly,  with  a  loud 
report.  That  report  was  followed  by  a  piteous 
wail. 

Hazel  turned  pale  at  this  fatal  blow  :  but,  re- 
covering himself,  he  said,  "  That  is  unfortunate  ; 
but  it  was  a  good  servant  while  it  lasted ;  give 
me  the  baler ;  and,  Miss  Rolleston,  can  you  lend 
me  a  thimble  ?" 

The  tube  of  the  life-preserver  was  held  over 
the  baler ;  and  out  trickled  a  small  quantity  of 
pure  water,  two  thimblefuls  apiece.  Even  that, 
as  it  passed  over  their  swelling  tongues  and 
parched  swallows,  was  a  heavenly  relief:  but, 
alas,  the  supply  was  then  exhausted. 

Next  day  hunger  seemed  uppermost,  and  the 
men  gnawed  and  chewed  their  tobacco-pouches  ; 
and  two  caps,  that  had  been  dressed  with  the  hair 
on,  were  divided  for  food. 

None  was  given  to  Mr.  Hazel  or  Miss  Rolles- 
ton ;  and  this,  to  do  the  poor  creatures  justice, 
was  the  first  instance  of  injustice  or  partiality 
the  sailors  had  shown. 

The  lady,  though  tormented  with  hunger,  was 
more  magnanimous :  she  offered  to  divide  the 
contents  of  her  little  medicine  chest ;  and  the 
globules  were  all  devoured  in  a  moment. 

And  now  their  tortures  were  aggravated  by 
the  sight  of  abundance.  They  drifted  over 
coral  rocks,  at  a  considerable  depth,  but  the 
water  was  so  exquisitely  clear  that  they  saw  five 
fathoms  down.  They  discerned  small  fish 
drifting  over  the  bottom  ;    they  looked  like  a 


driving  cloud,  so  vast  was  their  number;  and 
every  now  and  then  there  was  a  scurry  among 
them,  and  porpoises  and  dog-fish  broke  in  and 
feasted  on  them.  All  this  they  saw,  yet  could 
not  catch  one  of  those  billions  for  their  lives. 
Thus  they  were  tantalized  as  well  as  starved. 

The  next  day  was  like  the  last,  with  this  dif- 
ference, that  the  sufferers  could  no  longer  en- 
dure their  torments  in  silence. 

The  lady  moaned  constantly :  the  sailors  groan- 
ed, lamented,  and  cursed. 

The  sun  baked  and  blistered,  and  the  water 
glared. 

The  sails  being  useless,  the  sailors  rigged  them 
as  an  awning,  and  salt  water  was  constantly 
thrown  over  them. 

Mr.  Hazel  took  a  baler  and  drenched  his  own 
clothes  and  Miss  Rolleston's  upon  their  bodies. 
This  relieved  the  hell  of  thirst  in  some  degree  : 
but  the  sailors  could  not  be  persuaded  to  prac- 
tise it. 

In  the  afternoon  Hazel  took  Miss  Rolleston's 
Bible  from  her  wasted  hands,  and  read  aloud 
the  forty-second  Psalm. 

When  he  had  done,  one  of  the  sailors  asked 
him  to  pass  the  Bible  forward.  He  did  so  ;  and 
in  half  an  hour  the  leaves  were  returned  him  ; 
the  vellum  binding  had  been  cut  off,  divided, 
and  eaten. 

He  looked  piteously  at  the  leaves,  and,  after 
a  while,  fell  upon  his  knees  and  prayed  silently. 

He  rose,  and,  with  Miss  Rolleston's  consent, 
offered  the  men  the  leaves  as  well.  "  It  is  the 
Bread  of  Life  for  men's  souls,  not  their  bodies," 
said  he.  "But  God  is  merciful;  I  think  he 
will  forgive  you ;  for  your  need  is  bitter." 

Cooper  replied  that  the  binding  was  man's, 
but  the  pages  were  God's ;  and,  either  for  this 
or  another  more  obvious  reason,  the  leaves  were 
declined  for  food. 

All  that  afternoon  Hazel  was  making  a  sort 
of  rough  spoon  out  of  a  fragment  of  wood. 

The  night  that  followed  was  darker  than 
usual,  and,  about  midnight,  a  hand  was  laid  on 
Helen  Rolleston's  shoulder,  and  a  voice  whis- 
pered, "  Hush  !  say  nothing.  I  have  got  some- 
thing for  you." 

At  the  same  time,  something  sweet  and  deli- 
ciously  fragrant  was  put  to  her  lips  ;  she  opened 
her  mouth,  and  received  a  spoonful  of  marma- 
lade. Never  did  marmalade  taste  like  that  be- 
fore. It  dissolved  itself  like  ambrosia  over  her 
palate,  and  even  relieved  her  parched  throat  in 
some  slight  degree  by  the  saliva  it  excited. 

Nature  could  not  be  resisted  ;  her  body  took 
whatever  he  gave.     But  her  high  mind  rebelled. 

"  Oh,  how  base  I  am,"  said  she,  and  wept. 

"Why,  it  is  your  own,"  said  he,  soothingly  ; 
"  I  took  it  out  of  your  cabin  expressly  for  you." 

"At  least  oblige  me  by  eating  some  yourself, 
sir,"  said  Helen,  "  or  "  (with  a  sudden  burst)  "I 
will  die  ere  I  touch  another  morsel." 

"I  feel  the  threat,  Miss  Rolleston;  but  I  do 
not  need  it,  for  I  am  very,  very  hungry.  But 
no  ;  if  7  take  any,  I  must  divide  it  all  with  them. 
But  if  you  will  help  me  unrip  the  jacket,  I  will 
suck  the  inside — after  you." 

Helen  gazed  at  him,  and  wondered  at  the  man 
and  at  the  strange  love  which  had  so  bitterly  of- 
fended her  when  she  was  surrounded  by  com- 
forts ;   but  now  it  extorted  her  respect. 

They  unripped  the  jacket,  and  found  some 


FOUL  PLAY. 


51 


moisture  left.  They  sucked  it,  and  it  was  a 
wonderful,  and  incredible  relief  to  their  parched 
gullets. 

The  next  day  was  a  fearful  one.  Not  a  cloud 
in  the  sky  to  give  hope  of  rain  ;  the  air  so  light, 
it  only  just  moved  them  along ;  and  the  sea 
glared,  and  the  sun  beat  on  the  poor  wretches, 
now  tortured  into  madness  with  hunger  and 
thirst. 

The  body  of  man,  in  this  dire  extremity,  can 
suffer  internal  agony  as  acute  as  any  that  can  be 
inflicted  on  its  surface  by  the  knife ;  and  the 
cries,  the  screams,  the  groans,  the  prayers,  the 
curses,  intermingled,  that  issued  from  the  boat, 
were  not  to  be  distinguished  from  the  cries  of 
men  horribly  wounded  in  battle,  or  writhing 
under  some  terrible  operation  in  hospitals. 

Oh,  it  was  terrible  and  piteous  to  see  and  hear 
the  boat-load  of  ghastly  victims,  with  hollow 
cheeks,  and  wild-beast  eyes,  go  groaning,  curs- 
ing, and  shrieking  loud,  upon  that  fair  glassy 
sea,  below  that  purple  vault  and  glorious  sun. 

Towards  afternoon,  the  sailors  got  together, 
forward,  and  left  Hazel  and  Miss  Rolleston 
alone  in  the  stern.  This  gave  him  an  opportu- 
nity of  speaking  to  her  confidentially.  He  took 
advantage  of  it,  and  said,  "Miss  Rolleston,  I 
wish  to  consult  you.  Am  I  justified  in  secreting 
the  marmalade  any  longer  ?  There  is  nearly  a 
spoonful  apiece." 

"No,"  said  Helen,  "divide  it  among  them 
all.  Oh,  if  I  had  only  a  woman  beside  me,  to 
pray  with,  and  cry  with,  and  die  with  :  for  die 
we  must." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Hazel,  faint- 
ly, but  with  a  cool  fortitude  all  his  own.  u  Ex- 
perience proves  that  the  human  body  can  sub- 
sist a  prodigious  time  on  very  little  food  :  and 
saturating  the  clothes  with  water  is,  I  know,  the 
best  way  to  allay  thirst.  And  women,  thank 
Heaven,  last  longer  than  men,  under  priva- 
tions." 

"I  shall  not  last  long,  sir,"  said  Helen. 
"  Look  at  their  eyes." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  those  men  there  are  going  to 
kill  me." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


Hazel  thought  her  reason  was  going;  and, 
instead  of  looking  at  the  men's  eyes,  it  was  hers 
he  examined.  But  no;  the  sweet  cheek  was 
white,  the  eyes  had  a  fearful  hollow  all  round 
them,  but,  out  of  that  cave,  the  light  hazel  eye, 
preternaturally  large,  but  calm  as  ever,  looked 
out,  full  of  fortitude,  resignation,  and  reason. 

"Don't  look  at  we,"  said  she,  quietly ;  "but 
take  an  opportunity  and  look  at  them.  They 
mean  to  kill  me." 

Hazel  looked  furtively  round ;  and,  being  en- 
lightened in  part  by  the  woman's  intelligence, 
he  observed  that  some  of  the  men  were  actually 
glaring  at  himself  and  Helen  Rolleston  in  a 
dreadful  way.  There  was  a  remarkable  change 
in  their  eyes  since  he  looked  last.  The  pupils 
seemed  diminished,  the  whites  enlarged ;  and, 
in  a  word,  the  characteristics  of  humanity  had, 
somehow,  died  out  of  those  bloodshot  orbs,  and 
the  animal  alone  shone  in  them  now  ;  the  wild 
beast,  driven  desperate  by  hunger. 


What  he  saw,  coupled  with  Helen's  positive 
interpretation  of  it,  was  truly  sickening. 

These  men  were  six,  and  he  but  one.     They 
}  had  all  clasp-knives ;  and  he  had  only  an  old 
|  penknife  that  would  be  sure  to  double  up,  or 
break  off,  if  a  blow  were  dealt  with  it. 

He  asked  himself  in  utter  terror,  what  on 
earth  he  should  do. 

The  first  thing  seemed  to  be  to  join  the  men, 
and  learn  their  minds:  it  might  also  be  as  well 
to  prevent  this  secret  conference  from  going  far- 
ther. 

He  went  forward  boldly,  though  sick  at  heart, 
and  said,  "Well,  my  lads,  what  is  it?" 

The  men  were  silent  directly,  and  looked  sul- 
lenly down,  avoiding  his  eye,  yet  not  ashamed. 

In  a  situation  so  terrible,  the  senses  are  sharp- 
ened ;  and  Hazel  dissected,  in  his  mind,  this  sin- 
ister look,  and  saw  that  Morgan,  Prince,  and 
Mackintosh  were  hostile  to  him. 

But  Welch  and  Cooper  he  hoped  were  still 
friendly. 

"  Sir,"  said  Fenner,  civilly  but  doggedly,  "we 

are  come  to  this  now,  that  one  must  die,  "for  the 

I  others  to  live  :  and  the  greater  part  of  us  are  for 

casting  lots  all  round,  and  let  every  man,  and 

every  woman  too,  take  their  chance.     That  is 

1  fair,  Sam,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  It  is  fair,"  said  Cooper,  with  a  terrible  dog- 
gedness.     "But  it  is  hard,"  he  added. 

"Harder  that  seven  should  die  for  one,"  said 
Mackintosh.  "  No,  no ;  one  must  die  for  the 
seven." 

Hazel  represented,  with  all  the  force  language 
possesses,  that  what  they  meditated  was  a  crime, 
the  fatal  result  of  which  was  known  by  experi- 
ence. 

But  they  heard  in  ominous  silence. 

Hazel  went  back  to  Helen  Rolleston,  and  sat 
down  right  before  her. 

"Well!"  said  she,  with  supernatural  calmness. 

"  You  were  mistaken,"  said  he. 

"  Then  why  have  you  placed  yourself  between 
them  and  me.  No,  no,  their  eyes  have  told  me 
they  have  singled  me  out.  But  what  does  it  mat- 
ter ?  We  poor  creatures  are  all  to  die  ;  and  that 
one  is  the  happiest  that  dies  first,  and  dies  unstain- 
ed by  such  a  crime.  Iheardevery  word  you  said, 
sir." 

Hazel  cast  a  piteous  look  on  her,  and,  finding 
he  could  no  longer  deceive  her  as  to  their  dan- 
ger, and  being  weakened  by  famine,  fell  to  trem- 
\  bling  and  crying. 

Helen  Rolleston  looked  at  him  with  calm  and 
'  gentle  pity.     For  a  moment,  the  patient  forti- 
j  tude  of  a  woman  made  her  a  brave  man's  supe- 
rior. 

Night  came,  and,  for  the  first  time,  Hazel 
claimed  two  portions  of  the  rum  ;  one  for  him- 
self and  one  for  Miss  Rolleston. 

He  then  returned  aft,  and  took  the  helm.  He 
loosened  it,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  unship  it  in  a 
moment,  and  use  it  as  a  weapon. 

The  men  huddied  together  forward ;  and  it 
was  easy  to  see  that  the  boat  was  now  divided 
into  two  hostile  camps. 

Hazel  sat  quaking,  with  his  hand  on  the  helm, 
fearing  an  attack  every  moment. 

Both  he  and  Helen  listened  acutely,  and 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  new  inci- 
dent occurred,  of  a  terrible  nature. 

Mackintosh  was  heard  to  say,  "Serve  out  the 


52 


FOUL  PLAY. 


rum,  no  allowance,"  and  the  demand  was  in- 
stantly complied  with  by  Morgan. 

Then  Hazel  touched  Miss  Rolleston  on  the 
shoulder,  and  insisted  on  her  taking  half  what 
was  left  of  the  marmalade,  and  he  took  the  other 
half.  The  time  was  gone  by  for  economy; 
what  they  wanted  now  was  strength,  in  case  the  J 
wild  beasts,  maddened  by  drink  as  well  as  hun-  ' 
ger,  should  attack  them. 

Already  the  liquor  had  begun  to  tell,  and 
wild  hallos  and  yells,  and  even  fragments  of 
ghastly  songs  mingled  with  the  groans  of  misery, 
in  the  doomed  boat. 

At  sunrise  there  was  a  great  swell  upon  the 
water,  and  sharp  gusts  at  intervals ;  and  on  the 
horizon,  to  windward,  might  be  observed  a  black 
spot  in  the  sky  no  bigger  than  a  fly.  But  none 
saw  that ;  Hazel's  eye  never  left  the  raving 
wretches  in  the  fore  part  of  the  boat ;  Cooper  and 
Welch  sat  in  gloomy  despair  amidships  ;  and  the 
others  were  huddled  together  forward,  encpurag- 
ing  each  other  to  a  desperate  act. 

It  was  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  Hel- 
en Rolleston  awoke  from  a  brief  doze,  and  said, 
"Mr.  Hazel,  I  have  had  a  strange  dream.  I 
dreamed  there  was  food,  and  plenty  of  it,  on  the 
outside  of  this  boat." 

While  these  strange  words  were  yet  in  her 
mouth,  three  of  the  sailors  suddenly  rose  up  with 
their  knives  drawn,  and  eyes  full  of  murder,  and 
staggered  aft  as  fast  as  their  enfeebled  bodies 
could. 

Hazel  uttered  a  loud  cry,  "Welch  !  Cooper  ! 
will  3'ou  see  us  butchered  ?"  and,  unshipping  the 
helm,  rose  to  his  feet. 

Cooper  put  out  his  arm  to  stop  Mackintosh, 
but  was  too  late.  He  did  stop  Morgan,  however, 
and  said,  "  Come,  none  of  that ;  no  foul  play!" 

Irritated  by  this  unexpected  resistance,  and 
maddened  by  drink,  Morgan  turned  on  Cooper 
and  stabbed  him ;  he  sank  down  with  a  groan ; 
on  this  Welch  gave  Morgan  a  fearful  gash,  divid- 
ing his  jugular,  and  was  stabbed,  in  return,  by 
Prince,  but  not  severely  :  these  two  grappled  and 
rolled  over  one  another,  stabbing  and  cursing  at 
the  bottom  of  the  boat ;  meantime,  Mackintosh 
was  received  by  Hazel  with  a  point-blank  thrust 
in  the  face  from  the  helm,  that  staggered  him, 
th©ugh  a  very  powerful  man,  and  drove  him 
backward  against  the  mast ;  but,  in  delivering 
this  thrust,  Hazel's  foot  slipped,  and  he  fell  with 
great  violence  on  his  head,  and  arm ;  Mackin- 
tosh recovered  himself,  and  sprang  upon  the  stern 
thwart  with  his  knife  up  and  gleaming  over  Hel- 
en Rolleston.  Hazel  writhed  round  where  he  lay, 
and  struck  him  desperately  on  the  knee  with  the 
helm.  The  poor  woman  knew  only  how  to  suf- 
fer ;  she  cowered  a  little,  and  put  up  two  feeble 
hands. 

The  knife  descended. 

But  not  upon  that  cowering  figure. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

A  purple  rippling  line  upon  the  water  had  for 
.some  little  time  been  coming  down  upon  them 
with  great  rapidity ;  but,  bent  on  bloody  work, 
they  had  not  observed  it.  The  boat  heeled  over 
under  a  sudden  gust ;  but  the  ruffian  had  already 
lost  his  footing  under  Hazel's  blow,  and,  the 


boom  striking  him  almost  at  the  same  moment, 
he  went  clean  over  the  gunwale  into  the  sea ;  he 
struck  it  with  his  knife  first. 

All  their  lives  were  now  gone  if  Cooper,  who 
had  already  recovered  his  feet,  had  not  immedi- 
ately cut  the  sheet  with  his  knife ;  there  was  no 
time  to  slack  it ;  and,  even  as  it  was,  the  lower 
part  of  the  sail  was  drenched,  and  the  boat  full 
of  water.     "  Ship  the  helm  !"  he  roared. 

The  boat  righted  directly  the  sheet  was  cut,  the 
wet  sail  flapped  furiously,  and  the  boat  having 
way  on  her,  yielded  to  the  helm  and  wriggled 
slowly  away  before  the  whistling  wind. 

Mackintosh  rose  a  few  yards  astern,  and  swam 
after  the  boat,  with  great  glaring  eyes  ;  the  loose 
sail  was  not  drawing,  but  the  wind  moved  the 
boat  onward.  However,  Mackintosh  gained 
slowly,  and  Hazel  held  up  an  oar  like  a  spear, 
and  shouted  to  him  that  he  must  promise  solemn- 
ly to  forego  all  violence,  or  he  should  never  come 
on  board  alive. 

Mackintosh  opened  his  mouth  to  reply ;  but, 
at  the  same  moment,  his  eyes  suddenly  dilated 
in  a  fearful  way,  and  he  went  under  water,  with 
a  gurgling  cry.  Yet  not  like  one  drowning,  but 
with  a  jerk. 

The  next  moment  there  was  a  great  bubbling 
of  the  water,  as  if  displaced  by  some  large  crea- 
tures struggling  below,  and  then  the  surface  was 
stained  with  blood. 

And,  lest  there  should  be  any  doubt  as  to  the 
wretched  man's  fate,  the  rude  back  fin  of  a  mon- 
strous shark  came  soon  after,  gliding  round  and 
round  the  rolling  boat,  awaiting  the  next  vic- 
tim. 

Now,  while  the  water  was  yet  stained  with  his 
life-blood,  who,  hurrying  to  kill,  had  met  with  a 
violent  death,  the  unwounded  sailor  Fenner,  ex- 
cited by  the  fracas,  broke  forth  into  singing,  and 
so  completed  the  horror  of  a  wild  and  awful  scene ; 
for  still,  while  he  shouted,  laughed,  and  sang, 
the  shark  swam  calmly  round  and  round,  and 
the  boat  crept  on,  her  white  sail  bespattered  with 
blood, —  which  was  not  so  before, — and  in  her 
bottom  lay  one  man  dead  as  a  stone ;  and  two 
poor  wretches,  Prince  and  Welch,  their  short- 
lived feud  composed  forever,  sat  openly  sucking 
their  bleeding  wounds,  to  quench  for  a  moment 
their  intolerable  thirst. 

Oh,  little  do  we,  who  never  pass  a  single  day 
without  bite  or  sup,  know  the  animal  man,  in 
these  dire  extremities. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

At  last  Cooper  ordered  Fenner  to  hold  his  jaw, 
and  come  aft,  and  help  sail  the  boat. 

But  the  man,  being  now  stark  mad,  took  no 
notice  of  the  order.  His  madness  grew  on  him, 
and  took  a  turn  by  no  means  uncommon  in  these 
cases.  He  saw  before  him  sumptuous  feasts,  and 
streams  of  fresh  water  flowing.  These  he  began 
to  describe  with  great  volubility  and  rapture, 
smacking  his  lips,  and  exulting  :  and  so  he  went 
on  tantalizing  them  till  noon. 

Meantime,  Cooper  asked  Mr.  Hazel  if  he  could 
sail  the  boat. 

"I  can  steer,"  said  he,  "  but  that  is  all.  My 
right  arm  is  benumbed." 

The  silvery  voice  of  Helen  Rolleston  then  utter- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


S3 


ed  brave  and  welcome  words.  "  I  will  do  what- 
ever you  tell  me,  Mr.  Cooper." 

"  Long  life  to  you,  miss !"  said  the  wounded 
seaman.  He  then  directed  her  how  to  reef  the 
sail,  and  splice  the  sheet  which  he  had  been 
obliged  to  cut ;  and,  in  a  word,  to  sail  the  boat ; 
which  she  did  with  some  little  assistance  from 
Hazel. 

And  so  they  all  depended  upon  her,  whom 
some  of  them  had  been  for  killing:  and  the 
blood-stained  boat  glided  before  the  wind. 

At  two  p.m.  Fenner  jumped  suddenly  up,  and, 
looking  at  the  sea  with  rapture,  cried  out,  "  Aha ! 
my  boys,  here's  a  beautiful  green  meadow ;  and 
there's  a  sweet  brook  with  bulrushes:  green, 
green,  green !  Let's  have  a  roll  among  the 
daisies."  And,  in  a  moment,  ere  any  of  his  stiff 
and  wounded  shipmates  could  put  out  a  hand, 
he  threw  himself  on  his  back  upon  the  water, 
and  sunk  forever,  with  inexpressible  rapture  on 
his  corpse-like  facrT. 

A  feeble  groan  was  the  only  tribute  those  who 
remained  behind  could  afford  him. 

At  three  p.m.  Mr.  Hazel -happened  to  look 
over  the  weather-side  of  the  boat,  as  she  heeled 
to  leeward  under  a  smart  breeze,  and  he  saw  a 
shell  or  two  fastened  to  her  side,  about  eleven 
inches  above  keel.  He  looked  again,  and  gave 
a  loud  hurrah.  "Barnacles!  barnacles!"  he 
cried.     "  I  see  them  sticking." 

He  leaned  over,  and,  with  some  difficulty,  de- 
tached one,  and  held  it  up. 

It  was  not  a  barnacle,  but  a  curious  oblong 
shell-fish,  open  at  one  end. 

At  sight  of  this,  the  wounded  forgot  their 
wounds,  and  leaned  over  the  boat's  side,  detach- 
ing the  shell-fish  with  their  knives.  They  broke 
them  with  the  handles  of  their  knives,  and  de- 
voured the  fish.  They  were  as  thick  as  a  man's 
finger,  and  about  an  inch  long,  and  as  sweet  as 
a  nut.  It  seems  that  in  the  long  calm  these 
shell-fish  had  fastened  on  the  boat.  More  than  a 
hundred  of  them  were  taken  off  her  weather-side, 
and  evenly  divided. 

Miss  Rolleston,  at  Hazel's  earnest,  request,  ate 
only  six,  and  these  very  slowly,  and  laid  the 
rest  by.  But  the  sailors  could  not  restrain  them- 
selves ;  and  Prince,  in  particular,  gorged  him- 
self so  fiercely  that  he  turned  purple  in  the  face, 
and  began  to  breathe  very  hard. 

That  black  speck  on  the  horizon  had  grown 
by  noon  to  a  beetle,  and  by  three  o'clock  to  some- 
thing more  like  an  elephant,  and  it  now  diffused 
itself  into  a  huge  black  cloud,  that  gradually 
overspread  the  heavens  ;  and  at  last,  about  half 
an  hour  before  sunset,  came  a  peculiar  chill,  and 
then,  in  due  course,  a  drop  or  two  fell  upon  the 
parched  wretches.  They  sat,  less  like  animals 
than  like  plants,  all  stretching  towards  their 
preserver. 

Their  eyes  were  turned  up  to  the  clouds,  so 
were  their  open  mouths,  and  their  arms  and  hands 
held  up  towards  it. 

The  drops  increased  in  number,  and  praise 
went  up  to  Heaven  in  return. 

Patter,  patter,  patter  ;  down  came  a  shower,  a 
rain, — a  heavy,  steady  rain. 

With  cries  of  joy,  they  put  out  every  vessel  to 
•atch  it ;  they  lowered  the  sail,  and  putting  bal- 
last, in  the  centre,  bellied  it  into  a  great  vessel  to 
catch  it.  They  used  all  their  spare  canvas  to 
catch  it.     They  filled  the  water-cask  with  it ;  they 


filled  the  keg  that  had  held  the  fatal  spirit ;  and 
all  the  time  they  were  sucking  the  wet  canvas, 
and  their  own  clothes,  and  their  very  hands  and 
garments  on  which  the  life-giving  drops  kept  fall- 
ing. 

Then  they  set  their  little  sail  again,  and  pray- 
ed for  land  to  Him  who  had  sent  them  wind  and 
rain. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  breeze  declined  at  sunset ;  but  it  rained 
at  intervals  during  the  night ;  and  by  the  morn- 
ing they  were  somewhat  chilled. 

Death  had  visited  them  again  during  the  night. 
Prince  was  discovered  dead  and  cold ;  his  wounds 
were  mere  scratches,  and  there  seems  to  be  no 
doubt  that  he  died  by  gorging  himself  with  more 
food  than  his  enfeebled  system  could  possibly  di- 
gest. 

Thus  dismally  began  a  day  of  comparative 
bodily  comfort,  but  mental  distress,  especially  to 
Miss  Rolleston  and  Mr.  Hazel. 

Now  that  this  lady  and  gentleman  were  no 
longer  goaded  to  madness  by  physical  suffering, 
their  higher  sensibilities  resumed  their  natural 
force,  and  the  miserable  contents  of  the  blood- 
stained boat  shocked  them  terribly.  Two  corpses 
and  two  wounded  men. 

Mr.  Hazel,  however,  soon  came  to  one  resolu- 
tion, and  that  was  to  read  the  funeral  service 
over  the  dead,  and  then  commit  them  to  the 
deep.  He  declared  this  intention,  and  Cooper, 
who,  though  wounded,  and  apparently  sinking, 
was  still  skipper  of  the  boat,  acquiesced  readily. 

Mr.  Hazel  then  took  the  dead  men's  knives  and 
their  money  out  of  their  pockets,  and  read  the 
burial-service  over  them  ;  they  were  then  com- 
mitted to  the  deep.  This  sad  ceremony  perform- 
ed, he  addressed  a  few  words  to  the  survivors. 

"  My  friends,  and  brothers  in  affliction,  we 
ought  not  to  hope  too  much  from  Divine  mercy 
for  ourselves ;  or  we  should  come  soon  to  forget 
Divine  justice.  But  we  are  not  forbidden  to 
hope  for  others.  Those  who  have  now  gone 
were  guilty  of  a  terrible  crime ;  but  then  they 
were  tempted  more  than  their  flesh  could  bear ; 
and  they  received  their  punishment  here  on  earth : 
we  may  therefore  hope  they  will  escape  punish- 
ment hereafter.  And  it  is  for  us  to  profit  by 
their  fate,  and  bow  to  Heaven's  will :  even  when 
they  drew  their  knives,  food  in  plenty  was  with- 
in their  reach,  and  the  signs  of  wind  were  on  the 
sea,  and  of  rain  in  the  sky.  Letusbemorepatie:  t 
than  they  were,  and  place  our  trust —  What  is 
that  upon  the  water  to  leeward?  A  piece  of 
wood  floating  ?" 

Welch  stood  up  and  looked.  "  Can't  make  it 
out.  Steer  alongside  it,  miss,  if  you  please." 
And  he  crept  forward. 

Presently  he  became  excited,  and  directed 
those  in  the  stern  how  to  steer  the  boat  close  to 
the  object  without  going  over  it.  He  begged 
them  all  to  be  silent.  He  leaned  over  the  boat- 
side  as  they  neared  it.  He  clutched  it  suddenly 
with  both  hands  and  flung  it  into  the  boat  with 
a  shout  of  triumph,  but  sank  exhausted  by  the 
effort. 

It  was  a  young  turtle  ;  and  being  asleep  on 
the  water,  or  inexperienced,  had  allowed  them 
to  capture  it. 


54 


FOUL  PLAY. 


This  was  indeed  a  godsend :  twelve  pounds  of 
succulent  meat.  It  was  instantly  divided,  and 
Mr.  Hazel  contrived,  with  some  difficulty,  to  boil 
a  portion  of  it.  He  enjoyed  it  greatly  ;  but  Miss 
Rolleston  showed  a  curious  and  violent  antipathy 
to  it,  scarcely  credible  under  the  circumstances. 
Not  so  the  sailors.  They  devoured  it  raw,  what 
they  could  get  at  all.  Cooper  could  only  get 
down  a  mouthful  or  two:  had  received  his  death- 
wound,  and  was  manifestly  sinking. 

He  revived,  however,  from  time  to  time,  and 
spoke  cheerfully,  whenever  he  spoke  at  all. 
Welch  informed*  him  of  every  incident  that  took 
place,  however  minute.  Then  he  would  nod  or 
utter  a  syllable  or  two. 

On  being  told  that  they  were  passing  through 
sea-weed,  he  expressed  a  wish  to  see  some  of  it, 
and  when  he  had  examined  it,  he  said  to  Ha- 
zel, "Keep  up  your  heart,  sir;  you  are  not  a 
hundred  miles  from  land."  He  added  gently, 
after  apause,  "But  I  am  bound  for  another  port.;' 

About  five  in  the  afternoon  Welch  came  aft, 
with  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  to  say  that  Sam  was 
just  going  to  slip  his  cable,  and  had  something 
to  say  to  them. 

They  went  to  him  directly,  and  Hazel  took 
his  hand,  and  exhorted  him  to  forgive  all  his 
enemies. 

"Hain't  a  got  none,"  was  the  reply. 

Hazel  then,  after  a  few  words  of  religious  ex- 
hortation and  comfort,  asked  him  if  he  could  do 
any  thing  for  him. 

"  Ay,"  said  Cooper,  solemnly.  "  Got  pen  and 
ink  aboard,  any  of  ye?" 

"I  have  a  pencil,"  said  Helen,  earnestly; 
then,  tearfully, '  *  Oh  dear !  it  is  to  make  his  will." 
She  opened  her  prayer-book,  which  had  two  blank 
leaves  under  each  cover. 

The  dying  man  saw  them,  and  rose  into  that 
remarkable  energy  which  sometimes  precedes  the 
departure  of  the  soul. 

"Write,"  said  he,  in  his  deep,  full  tones. 

"I,  Samuel  Cooper,  able  seaman,  am  going  to 
slip  my  cable,  and  sail  into  the  presence  of  my 
Maker." 

He  waited  till  this  was  written. 

"  And  so  I  speak  the  truth. 

"The  ship  Proserpine  was  destroyed  willful. 

"The  men  had  more  allowance  than  they 
signed  for. 

"  The  mate  was  always  plying  the  captain  with 
liquor. 

"Two  days  before  ever  the  ship  leaked,  the 
mate  got  the  long-boat  ready. 

"  When  the  Proserpine  sunk,  we  was  on  her 
port  quarter,  aboard  the  cutter,  was  me  and  my 
messmate  Tom  Welch. 

"We  saw  two  auger-holes  in  her  stern,  about 
two  inches  diameter. 

"  Them  two  holes  was  made  from  within,  for 
the  splinters  showed  outside. 

"  She  was  a  good  ship,  and  met  with  no  stress 
of  weather  to  speak  of,  on  that  voyage. 


"Joe  Wylie  scuttled  hep,  and  destroyed  her 
people. 

"  D — n  his  eyes  !" 

Mr.  Hazel  was  shocked  at  this  finale  ;  but  he 
knew  what  sailors  are,  and  how  little  meaning 
there  is  in  their  set  phrases.  However,  as  a 
clergyman,  he  could  not  allow  these  to  be  Coop- 
er's last  words  ;  so  he  said  earnestly,  "Yes,  but, 
my  poor  fellow,  you  said  you  forgave  all  your 
enemies.     We  all  need  forgiveness,  you  know." 

"That  is  true,  sir." 

"And  you  forgive  this  Wylie,  do  you  not?" 

"  O  Lord  yes,  "  said  Cooper,  faintly.  "  I  for- 
give the  lubber ;  d — n  him  !" 

Having  said  these  words  with  some  difficulty, 
he  became  lethargic,  and  so  remained  for  two 
hours.  Indeed  he  spoke  but  once  more,  and 
that  was  to  Welch  ;  though  they  were  all  about 
him  then.  "Messmate,"  said  he,  in  a  voice 
that  was  now  faint  and  broken,  "you  and  I  must 
sail  together  on  this  new  voyage.  I'm  going 
out  of  port  first ;  but  "  (in  a  whisper  of  incon- 
ceivable tenderness  and  simple  cunning)  "  I'll  lie 
to  outside  the  harbor  till  you  come  out,  my  boy." 
Then  he  paused  a  moment.  Then  he  added, 
softly,  "For  I  love  you,  Tom." 

These  sweet  words  were  the  last  of  that  rug- 
ged, silent  sailor,  who  never  threw  a  word  away, 
and  whose  rough  breast  inclosed  a  friendship  as 
of  the  ancient  world,  tender,  true,  and  everlast- 
ing :  that  sweetened  his  life  and  ennobled  his 
death.  As  he  deserved  mourners,  so  he  had  true 
ones.  His  last  words  went  home  to  the  afflicted 
hearts  that  heard  them,  and  the  lady  and  gentle- 
man, whose  lives  he  had  saved  at  cost  of  his  own, 
wept  aloud  over  their  departed  friend.  But  his 
messmate's  eye  was  dry.  When  all  was  over, 
he  just  turned  to  the  mourners,  and  said  gravely, 
"  Thank  ye,  sir :  thank  ye  kindly,  ma'am." 
And  then  he  covered  the  body  decently  with  the 
spare  canvas,  and  lay  quietly  down  with  his  own 
head  pillowed  upon  those  loved  remains. 

Towards  afternoon,  seals  were  observed  sport- 
ing on  the  waters  ;  but  no  attempt  was  made  to 
capture  them.  Indeed,  Miss  Rolleston  had  quite 
enough  to  do  to  sail  the  boat  with  Mr.  Hazel's 
assistance. 

The  night  passed,  and  the  morning  brought 
nothing  new  ;  except  that  they  fell  in  with  sea- 
weed in  such  quantities  the  boat  could  hardly 
get  through  it. 

Mr.  Hazel  examined  this  sea-weed  carefully, 
and  brought  several  kinds  upon  deck.  Among 
the  varieties,  was  one  like  thin  green  strips  of 
spinach,  very  tender  and  succulent.  His  botan- 
ical researches  included  sea-weed,  and  he  recog- 
nized this  as  one  of  the  edible  rockweeds. 

There  was  very  little  of  it  comparatively,  but 
he  took  great  pains,  and,  in  two  hours'  time, 
had  gathered  as  much  as  might  fill  a  good  slop- 
basin. 

He  washed  it  in  fresh  water,  and  then  asked 
Miss  Rolleston  for  a  pocket-handkerchief.  This 
he  tied  so  as  to  make  a  bag,  and  contrived  to 
boil  it  with  a  few  chips  of  fuel  that  remained  on 
board. 

After  he  had  boiled  it  ten  minutes,  there  was 
no  more  fuel,  except  a  bowl  or  two,  and  the 
boat-hook, .  one  pair  of  oars,  and  the  mid-ship 
and  stern  thwarts. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


He  tasted  it,  and  found  it  glutinous  and  deli- 
cious; he  gave  Miss  Rolleston  some,  and  then 
fed  Welch  with  the  rest.  He,  poor  fellow,  en- 
joyed this  sea  spinach  greatly  ;  he  could  no  long- 
er swallow  meat. 

While  Hazel  was  feeding  him,  a  flock  of  ducks 
passed  over  their  heads,  high  in  the  air. 

Welch  pointed  up  at  them. 

"Ah!"  said  Helen,  "if  we  had  but  their 
wings !" 

Presently  a  bird  was  seen  coming  in  the  same 
direction,  but  flying  very  low ;  it  wabbled  along 
towards  them  very  slowly,  and  at  last,  to  their 
great  surprise,  came  flapping  and  tried  to  settle  on 
the  gunwale  of  the  boat.  Welch,  with  that  instinct 
of  slaughter  which  belongs  to  men,  struck  the 
boat-hook  into  the  bird's  back,  and  it  was  soon 
dispatched.  It  proved  to  be  one  of  that  very 
floek  of  ducks  that  had  passed  over  their  heads, 
and  a  crab  was  found  fastened  to  its  leg.  It  is 
supposed  that  the  bird,  to  break  its  long  flight, 
had  rested  on  some  reef,  and,  perhaps,  been  too 
busy  fishing  and,  caught  this  Tartar. 

Hazel  pounced  upon  it.  "  Heaven  has  sent  this 
for  you,  because  you  can  not  eat  turtle."  But 
the  next  moment  he  blushed  and  recovered  his 
reason.  "  See,:'  said  he,  referring  to  her  own 
words,  "this  poor  bird  had  wings,  yet  death 
overtook  her." 

He  sacrificed  a  bowl  for  fuel,  and  boiled  the 
duck  and  the  crab  in  one  pot,  and  Miss  Rolles- 
ton  ate  demurely  but  plentifully  of  both.  Of 
the  crab's  shell  he  made  a  little  drinking-vessel 
for  Miss  Rolleston. 

Cooper  remained  without  funeral  rites  all  this 
time;  the  reason  was  that  Welch  lay  with  his 
head  pillowed  upon  his  dead  friend,  and  Hazel 
had  not  the  heart  to  disturb  him. 

But  it  was  the  survivors'  duty  to  commit  him 
to  the  deep,  and  so  Hazel  sat  down  by  Welch, 
and  asked  him  kindly  whether  he  would  not 
wish  the  services  of  the  Church  to  be  read  over 
his  departed  friend. 

"In  course,  sir,"  said  Welch.  But  the  next 
moment  he  took  Hazel's  meaning,  and  said  hur- 
riedly, "  No,  no  ;  I  can't  let  Sam  be  buried  in 
the  sea.  Ye  see,  sir,  Sam  and  I,  we  are  used  to 
one  another,  and  I  can't  abide  to  part  with  him, 
alive  or  dead." 

"Ah!"  said  Hazel,  "the  best  friends  must 
part  when  death  takes  one." 

"  Ay,  ay,  when  t'other  lives.  But,  Lord  bless 
you,  sir  !  I  sha'n't  be  long  astarn  of  my  mess- 
mate here ;  can't  you  see  that  ?" 

"Heaven  forbid  !"  said  Hazel,  surprised  and 
alarmed.  "  Why,  you  are  not  mortally  wound- 
ed as  Cooper  was.  Have  a  good  heart,  man, 
and  we  three  will  all  see  Old  England  yet." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Welch, coolly,  "I'll  tell  ye  ; 
me  and  my  shipmate,  Prince,  was  a  cutting  at 
one  another  with  our  knives  a  smart  time  (and  I 
do  properly  wonder,  when  I  think  of  that  day's 
work,  for  I  liked  the  man  well  enough,  but  rum 
atop  of  starvation  plays  hell  with  seafaring  men), 
well,  sir,  as  I  was  a  saying,  he  let  more  blood 
out  of  me  than  I  could  afford  to  lose  under  the 
circumstances.  And,  ye  see,  I  can't  make  fresh 
blood,  because  my  throat  is  so  swelled  by  the 
drought,  I  can't  swallow  much  meat,  so  I'm  safe 
to  lose  the  number  of  my  mess;  and,  another 
thing,  my  heart  isn't  altogether  set  towards  liv- 
ing. Sam, here,  he  give  me  an  order;  what,  didn't 


ye  hear  him?  'I'll  lie  to  outside  the  bar,'  says 
he  'till you  come  out.'  He  expects  me  to  come 
out  in  his  wake.  Don't  ye,  Sam — that  was  ?*' 
and  he  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  remains. 
"Now,  sir,  I  shall  ax  the  lady  and  you  a  favor. 
I  want  to  lie  alongside  Sam.  But  if  you  bury 
him  in  the  sea,  and  me  ashore,  d — n  my  eyes  if  I 
sha'n't  be  a  thousand  years  or  so  before  I  can 
find  my  own  messmate.  Etarnity  is  a  nation  big 
place,  I'm  told,  a  hundred  times  as  big  as  both 
oceans.  No,  sir ;  you'll  make  land,  by  Sani's 
reckoning,  to-morrow  or  next  day,  wind  and 
tide  permitting.  I'll  take  care  of  Sam's  hull 
till  then,  and  we'll  lie  together,  till  the  angel 
blows  that  there  trumpet ;  and  then  we'll  go 
aloft  together,  and,  as  soon  as  ever  we  have  made 
our  scrape  to  our  betters,  we'll  both  speak  a  good 
word  for  you  and  the  lady,  and  a  very  pretty  lady 
she  is,  and  a  good-hearted,  and  the  best  plucked 
one  I  ever  did  see  in  any  distressed  craft  ;  now 
don't  ye  cry,  miss,  don't  ye  cry,  your  trouble  is 
pretty  near  over ;  he  said  you  was  not  a  hundred 
miles  from  land  ;  I  don't  know  how  he  knew  that, 
he  was  always  a  better  seaman  than  I  be ;  but 
say  it  he  did,  and  that  is  enough,  for  he  was  a 
man  as  never  told  a  lie,  nor  wasted  a  word." 

Welch  could  utter  no  more  just  then  ;  for  the 
glands  of  his  throat  were  swollen,  and  he  spoke 
with  considerable  difficulty. 

What  could  Hazel  reply  ?  The  judgment  is 
sometimes  ashamed  to  contradict  the  heart  with 
cold  reasons. 

He  only  said,  with  a  sigh,  that  he  saw  no  signs 
of  land,  and  believed  they  had  gone  on  a  wrong 
course,  and  were  in  the  heart  of  the  Pacific. 

Welch  made  no  answer,  but  a  look  of  good- 
natured  contempt.  The  idea  of  this  parson  con- 
tradicting Sam  Cooper ! 

The  sun  broke,  and  revealed  the  illimitable 
ocean  ;  themselves  a  tiny  speck  on  it. 

Mr.  Hazel  whispered  Miss  Rolleston  that  Coop- 
er must  be  buried  to-day. 

At  ten  p.m.  they  passed  through  more  sea- 
weed; but  this  time  they  had  to  eat  the  sea-spin- 
ach raw,  and  there  was  very  little  of  it. 

At  noon,  the  sea  was  green  in  places. 

Welch  told  them  this  was  a  sign  they  were 
nearing  land. 

At  four  p.m.  a  bird,  about  the  size  and  color 
of  a  woodpecker,  settled  on  the  boat's  mast. 

Their  glittering  eyes  fastened  on  it ;  and 
Welch  said,  "Come,  there's  a  supper  for  you 
as  can  eat  it." 

"  No,  poor  thing  !"  said  Helen  Rolleston. 

"You  are  right,"  said  Hazel,  with  a  certain 
effort  of  self-restraint.  "Let  our  sufferings 
make  us  gentle,  not  savage :  that  poor  bird  is  lost 
like  us  upon  this  ocean.     It  is  a  land-bird." 

"  How  do  you  know?" 

"Water-birds  have  webbed  feet, — to  swim 
with."  The  bird,  having  rested,  flew  to  the 
north-west. 

Helen,  by  one  of  those  inspired  impulses  her 
sex  have,  altered  the  boat's  course  directly,  and 
followed  the  bird. 

Half  an  hour  before  sunset,  Helen  Rolleston, 
whose  vision  was  very  keen,  said  she  saw  some- 
thing at  the  verge  of  the  horizon,  like  a  hair 
standing  upright. 

Hazel  looked,  but  could  not  see  any  thing. 

In  ten  minutes  more,  Helen  Rolleston  pointed 


FOUL  PLAY. 


it  out  again ;  and  then  Hazel  did  see  a  vertical 
line,  more  like  a  ship's  mast  than  any  thing  else 
one  could  expect  to  see  there. 

Their  eyes  were  now  strained  to  make  it  out, 
and,  as  the  boat  advanced,  it  became  more  and 
more  palpable,  though  it  was  hard  to  say  exactly 
what  it  was. 

Five  minutes  before  the  sun  set,  the  air  being 
clearer  than  ever,  it  stood  out  clean  against  the 
sky.  A  tree, — a  lofty,  solitary  tree  ;  with  a  tall 
stem,  like  a  column,  and  branches  only  at  the 
top. 

A  palm-tree — in  the  middle  of  the  Pacific. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

And  but  for  the  land-bird  which  rested  on  their 
mast,  and  for  their  own  mercy  in  sparing  it,  they 
would  have  passed  to  the  eastward,  and  never 
seen  that  giant  palm-tree  in  mid-ocean. 

"  Oh,  let  us  put  out  all  our  sails,  and  fly  to  it !" 
cried  Helen. 

Welch  smiled  and  said,  "  No,  miss,  ye  mustn't. 
Lord  love  ye ;  what !  run  on  to  a  land  ye  don't 
know,  happy  go  lucky,  in  the  dark,  like  that  f 
Lay  her  head  for  the  tree,  and  welcome,  but  you 
must  lower  the  mainsel,  and  treble-reef  the  fore- 
sel ;  and  so  creep  on  a  couple  of  knots  an  hour, 
and,  by  daybreak,  you'll  find  the  island  close 
under  your  lee.  Then  you  can  look  out  for  a 
safe  landing-place." 

"  The  island,  Mr.  Welch !"  said  Helen. 
"  There  is  no  island,  or  I  should  have  seen  it." 

"  Oh,  the  island  was  hull  down.  Why,  you 
don't  think-  as  palm-trees  grow  in  the  water? 
You  do  as  I  say,  or  you'll  get  wrecked  on  some 
thundering  reef  or  other." 

Upon  this  Mr.  Hazel  and  Miss  Rolleston  set 
to  work,  and  with  considerable  difficulty  lowered 
the  mainsail,  and  treble-reefed  the  foresail. 

"That  is  right,"  said  Welch.  "To-morrow 
you'll  land  in  safety,  and  bury  my  messmate 
and  me." 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Helen  Rolleston.  "We 
must  bury  him,  but  we  mean  to  cure  you."  They 
obeyed  Welch's  instructions,  and  so  crept  on  all 
night ;  and,  so  well  had  this  able  seaman  calcu- 
lated distance  and  rate  of  sailing,  that,  when  the 
sun  rose,  sure  enough  there  was  an  island  un- 
der their  lee,  distant  about  a  league,  though  it 
looked  much  less.  But  the  palm-tree  was  more 
than  twice  that  distance.  Owing  to  wind  and 
current  they  had  made  lee-way  all  night,  and 
that  tree  stood  on  the  most  westerly  pointof  the 
island. 

Hazel  and  Miss  Rolleston  stood  up  and  hur- 
rahed for  joy ;  then  fell  on  their  knees  in  silent 
gratitude.     Welch  only  smiled. 

But  the  breeze  had  freshened,  and,  though 
there  were  no  great  waves  at  sea,  yet  breakers, 
formidable  to  such  a  craft  as  theirs,  were  seen 
foaming  over  long  disjointed  reefs  ahead,  that 
grinned  black  and  dangerous  here  and  there. 

They  then  consulted  Welch,  and  he  told  them 
they  must  tack  directly,  and  make  a  circuit  of 
the  island  ;  he  had  to  show  them  how  to  tack  ; 
and,  the  sea  rising,  they  got  thoroughly  wetted, 
and  Miss  Rolleston  rather  frightened  ;  for  here 
was  a  peril  they  had  wonderfully  escaped  hith- 
erto. 


However,  before  eleven  o'clock,  they  had  stood 
out  to  sea,  and  coasted  the  whole  south  side  of 
the  island :  they  then  put  the  boat  before  the 
wind,  and  soon  ran  past  the  east  coast,  which 
was  very  narrow — in  fact,  a  sort  of  bluff-head — 
and  got  on  the  north  side  of  the  island.  Here 
the  water  was  comparatively  smooth,  and  the  air 
warm  and  balmy.  They  ranged  along  the  coast 
at  about  a  mile's  distance,  looking  out  for  a  good 
landing. 

Here  was  no  longer  an  unbroken  line  of  cliffs, 
but  an  undulating  coast,  with  bulging  rocks,  and 
lines  of  reef.  After  a  mile  or  two  of  that  the 
coast  ran  out  seaward,  and  they  passed  close  to 
a  most  extraordinary  phenomenon  of  vegetation. 
Great  tangled  woods  crowned  the  shore  and  the 
landward  slopes,  and  their  grand  foliage  seemed 
to  flow  over  into  the  sea  :  for  here  was  a  broad 
rocky  flat,  intersected  with  a  thousand  little 
channels  of  the  sea;  and  the  thousand  little 
islets  so  formed  were  crowded,  covered,  and  hid- 
den with  luxuriant  vegetation.  Huge  succulent 
leaves  of  the  richest  hue  hung  over  the  water, 
and  some  of  the  most  adventurous  showed,  by 
the  crystals  that  sparkled  on  their  green  surface, 
that  the  waves  had  actually  been  kissing  them 
at  high  tide.  This  ceased,  and  they  passed  un- 
der a  cliff,  wooded  nearly  to  the  point. 

This  cliff  was  broad  and  irregular,  and  in  one 
of  its  cavities  a  cascade  of  pure  fresh  water  came 
sparkling,  leaping,  and  tumbling  down  to  the 
foot  of  the  rock.  There  it  had  formed  a  great 
basin  of  water,  cool,  deep,  transparent,  which 
trickled  over  on  to  a  tongue  of  pink  sand,  and 
went  in  .two  crystal  gutters  to  the  sea. 

Great  and  keen  was  the  rapture  this  sight 
caused  our  poor  parched  voyagers ;  and  eager 
their  desire  to  land  at  once,  if  possible,  and 
plunge  their  burning  lips,  and  swelling  throats, 
and  fevered  hands,  into  that  heavenly  liquid  ; 
but  the  next  moment  they  were  diverted  from 
that  purpose  by  the  scene  that  burst  on  them. 

This  wooded  cliff,  with  its  wonderful  cascade, 
was  the  very  gate  of  paradise.  They  passed  it, 
and  in  one  moment  were  in  a  bay, — a  sudden 
bay,  wonderfully  deep  for  its  extent,  and  shel- 
tered on  three  sides.  Broad  sands  with  rainbow 
tints,  all  sparkling,  and  dotted  with  birds,  some 
white  as-snow,  some  gorgeous.  A  peaceful  sea 
of  exquisite  blue  kissing  these  lovely  sands  with 
myriad  dimples ;  and,  from  the  land  side,  soft 
emerald  slopes,  embroidered  with  silver  threads 
of  water,  came  to  the  very  edge  of  the  sands  ;  so 
that,  from  all  those  glorious  hues,  that  flecked 
the  prismatic  and  sparkling  sands,  the  eye  of 
the  voyagers  passed  at  once  to  the  vivid,  yet 
sweet  and  soothing,  green  of  Nature ;  and  over 
this  paradise  the  breeze  they  could  no  longer 
feel  wafted  spicy  but  delicate  odors  from  unseen 
trees. 

Even  Welch  raised  himself  in  the  boat,  and 
sniffed  the  heavenly  air,  and  smiled  at  the  heav- 
enly spot.  "Here's  a  blessed  haven  !"  said  he. 
"Down  sail,  and  row  her  ashore." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

They  rowed  more  than  a  mile,  so  deep  was 

the  glorious  bay ;  and  then  their  oars  struck  the 

I  ground.     But  "Hazel  with  the   boat-hook  pro- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


57 


pclled  the  boat  gently  over  the  pellucid  water, 
that  now  seemed  too  shallow  to  float  a  canoe  : 
and  at  last  looked  like  the  mere  varnish  of  that 
picture,  the  prismatic  sands  below;  yet  still  the 
little  craft  glided  over  it,  till  it  gently  grazed  the 
soft  sand,  and  was  stationary.  So  placidly  end- 
ed that  terrible  voyage. 

Mr.  Hazel  and  Miss  Rolleston  were  on  shore 
in  a  moment,  and  it  was  all  they  could  do  not 
to  fall  upon  the  land  and  kiss  it. 

Never  had  the  sea  disgorged  upon  that  fairy 
isle  such  ghastly  spectres.  They  looked,  not 
like  people  about  to  die,  but  that  had  died,  and 
been  buried,  and  just  come  out  of  their  graves 
to  land  on  that  blissful  shore.  We  should  have 
started  back  with  horror ;  but  the  birds  of  that 
virgin  isle  merely  stepped  out  of  their  way,  and 
did  not  fly. 

They  had  landed  in  paradise. 

Even  Welch  yielded  to  that  universal  longing  j 
men  have  to  embrace  the  land  after  perils  at  sea, 
and  was  putting  his  leg  slowly  over  the  gunwale, 
when  Hazel  came  back  to  his  assistance.  He 
got  ashore,  but  was  contented  to  sit  down  with 
his  eyes  on  the  dimpled  sea  and  the  boat,  wait- 
ing quietly  till  the  tide  should  float  his  friend  to 
his  feet  again. 

The  sea-birds  walked  quietly  about  him,  and 
minded  him  not. 

Miss  Rolleston  ascended  a  green  slope  very 
slowly,  for  her  limbs  were  cramped,  and  was  lost 
to  view. 

Hazel  now  went  up  the  beach,  and  took  a 
more  minute  survey  of  the  neighborhood. 

The  west  side  of  the  bay  was  varied.  Half 
of  it  presented  the  soft  character  that  marked 
the  bay  in  general ;  but  a  portion  of  it  was  rocky, 
though  streaked  with  vegetation,  and  this  part 
was  intersected  by  narrow  clefts,  into  which,  in 
some  rare  tempests  and  high  tides  combined, 
tongues  of  the  sea  had  entered,  licking  the  sides 
of  tjje  gullies  smooth  ;  and  these  occasional  visits 
were  marked  by  the  sand  and  broken  shells  and 
other  debris  the  tempestuous  and  encroaching 
sea  had  left  behind. . 

The  true  high-water  mark  was  several  feet 
lower  than  these  debris,  and  was  clearly  marked. 
On  the  land  above  the  cliffs  he  found  a  tangled 
jungle  of  tropical  shrubs,  into  which  he  did  not 
penetrate,  but  skirted  it,  and,  walking  eastward, 
came  out  upon  a  delicious  down  or  grassy  slope, 
that  faced  the  centre  of  the  bay.  It  was  a  gen- 
tleman's lawn  of  a  thousand  acres,  with  an  ex- 
tremely gentle  slope  from  the  centre  of  the  island 
down  to  the  sea. 

A  river  flowing  from  some  distant  source  ran 
eastward  through  this  down,  but  at  its  verge, 
and  almost  encircled  it.  Hazel  traversed  the 
lawn  until  this  river,  taking  a  sudden  turn  to- 
wards the  sea,  intercepted  him  at  a  spot  which 
he  immediately  fixed  on  as  Helen  Rolleston's 
future  residence. 

Four  short,  thick,  umbrageous  trees  stood  close 
to  the  stream  on  this  side,  and  on  the  eastern  side 
was  a  grove  of  gigantic  palm-trees,  at  whose  very 
ankles  the  river  ran.  Indeed,  it  had  undermined 
one  of  these  palm-trees,  and  that  giant  at  this 
moment  lay  all  across  the  stream,  leaving  a  gap 
through  which  Hazel's  eye  could  pierce  to  a 
great  depth  among  those  grand  columns;  for 
they  stood  wide  apart,  and  there  was  not  a  vestige 
of  brushwood,  jungle,  or  even  grass,  below  their  j 


enormous  crowns.  He  christened  the  place  St. 
Helen's  on  the  spot. 

He  now  dipped  his  baler  into  the  stream,  and 
found  it  pure  and  tolerably  cool. 

He  followed  the  bend  of  the  stream  ;  it  evaded 
the  slope  and  took  him  by  its  own  milder  descent 
to  the  sands  :  over  these  it  flowed  smooth  as  glass 
into  the  sea. 

\Hazel  ran  to  Welch  to  tell  him  all  he  had  dis- 
covered, and  to  give  him  his  first  water  from  the 
island. 

He  found  a  roan-colored  pigeon,  with  a  pur- 
plish neck,  perched  on  the  sick  man's  foot.  The 
bird  shone  like  a  rainbow,  and  cocked  a  saucy  eye 
at  Hazel,  and  flew  up  into  the  air  a  few  yards, 
but  it  soon  appeared  that  fear  had  little  to  do 
with  this  movement ;  for,  after  an  airy  circle  or 
two,  he  fanned  Hazel's  cheek  with  his  fast-flap- 
ping wings,  and  lighted  on  the  very  edge  of  the 
baler,  and  was  for  sipping. 

"Oh,  look  here,  Welch  !"  cried  Hazel,  in  an 
ecstasy  of  delight. 

"Ay,  sir,"  said  he.  "Poor  things,  they 
hain't  a  found  us  out  yet." 

The  talking  puzzled  the  bird,  if  it  did  not 
alarm  him,  and  he  flew  up  to  the  nearest  tree, 
and,  perching  there,  inspected  these  new  and 
noisy  bipeds  at  his  leisure. 

Hazel  now  laid  his  hand  on  Welch's  shoulder 
and  reminded  him  gently  they  had  a  sad  duty 
to  perform,  which  could  not  be  postponed. 

"Right  you  are,  sir,"  said  Welch,  "and  very 
kind  of  you  to  let  me  have  my  way  with  him. 
Poor  Sam !" 

"I  have  found  a  place,"  said  Hazel,  in  a  low 
voice.  "We  can  take  the  boat  close  to  it.  But 
where  is  Miss  Rolleston?" 

"Oh,  she  is  not  far  off;  she  was  here  just 
now,  and  brought  me  this  here  little  cocoa-nut, 
and  patted  me  on  the  back,  she  did,  then  off 
again  on  a  cruise.     Bless  her  little  heart!" 

Hazel  and  Welch  then  got  into  the  boat,  and 
pushed  off  without  much  difficulty,  and  punted 
across  the  bay  to  one  of  those  clefts  we  have  in- 
dicated. It  was  now  nearly  high  water,  and 
they  moored  the  boat  close  under  the  cleft  Hazel 
had  selected. 

Then  they  both  got  out  and  went  up  to  the 
extremity  of  the  cleft,  and  there,  with  the  axe 
and  with  pieces  of  wood,  they  scraped  out  a  rest- 
ing-place for  Cooper.  This  was  light  work  ; 
for  it  was  all  stones,  shells,  fragments  of  coral, 
and  dried  seaweed,  lying  loosely  together.  Bur, 
now  came  a  hard  task  in  which  Welch  could  not 
assist.  Hazel  unshipped  a  thwart,  and  laid  the 
body  on  it :  then  by  a  great  effort  staggered  with 
the  burden  up  to  the  grave  and  deposited  it. 
He  was  exhausted  by  the  exertion,  and  had  to 
sit  down  panting  for  some  time.  As  soon  as  he 
was  recovered,  he  told  Welch  to  stand  at  the 
head  of  the  grave,  and  he  stood  at  the  foot,  bare- 
headed, and  then,  from  memory,  he  repeated  the 
service  of  our  Church,  hardly  missing  or  dis- 
placing a  word. 

This  was  no  tame  recital ;  the  scene,  the  cir- 
cumstances, the  very  absence  of  the  book,  made 
it  tender  and  solemn.  And  then  Welch  repeated 
those  beautiful  words  after  Hazel,  and  Hazel  let 
him.  And  how  did  he  repeat  them  ?  In  such 
a  hearty,  loving  tone,  as  became  one  who  was 
about  to  follow,  and  all  this  but  a  short  leave- 
taking.     So  uttered,  for  the  living  as  well  as  the 


58 


FOUL  PLAY. 


dead,  those  immortal  words  had  a  strange  sig- 
nificance and  beauty. 

And  presently  a  tender,  silvery  voice  came 
down  to  mingle  with  the  deep  and  solemn  tones 
of  the  male  mourners.  It  was  Helen  Rolleston. 
She  had  watched  most  of  their  movements  un- 
seen herself,  and  now,  standing  at  the  edge  of 
the  ravine,  and  looking  down  on  them,  uttered 
a  soft  but  thrilling  amen  to  every  prayer.  When 
it  was  over,  and  the  men  prepared  to  fill  in  the 
grave,  she  spoke  to  Welch  in  an  under-tone,  and 
begged  leave  to  pay  her  tribute  first ;  and,  with 
this,  she  detached  her  apron,  and  held  it  out  to 
them.  Hazel  easily  climbed  up  to  her,  and 
found  her  apron  was  full  of  sweet-smelling  bark 
and  aromatic  leaves,  whose  fragrance  filled  the 
air. 

"I  want  you  to  strew  these  over  his  poor  re- 
mains," she  said.  "Oh,  not  common  earth! 
He  saved  our  lives.  And  his  last  words  were,  '  I 
love  you,  Tom.'  Oh  dear,  oh  dear,  oh  dear!" 
And  with  that  she  gave  him  the  apron,  and  turn- 
ed her  head  away  to  hide  her  tears. 

Hazel  blessed  her  for  the  thought,  which,  in- 
deed, none  but  a  lady  would  have  had ;  and 
Welch  and  he,  with  the  tears  in  their  eyes,  strew- 
ed the  spicy  leaves  first :  and  soon  a  ridge  of 
shingle  neatly  bound  with  sea-weed  marked  the 
sailor's  grave. 

Hazel's  next  anxiety,  and  that  a  pressing  one, 
was  to  provide  shelter  for  the  delicate  girl  and 
the  sick  man,  whom  circumstances  had  placed 
under  his  care.  He  told  Miss  Rolleston  Welch 
and  he  were  going  to  cross  the  bay  again,  and 
would  she  be  good  enough  to  meet  them  at  the 
bend  of  the  river  where  she  would  find  four  trees  ? 
She  nodded  her  head  and  took  that  road  accord- 
ingly. Hazel  rowed  eastward  across  the  bay, 
and,  it  being  now  high  water,  he  got  the  boat  into 
the  river  itself  near  the  edge  of  the  shore,  and, 
as  this  river  had  worn  a  channel,  he  contrived 
with  the  boat-hook  to  propel  the  boat  up  the 
stream  to  an  angle  in  the  bank  within  forty  yards 
of  the  four  trees.  He  could  get  no  farther,  the 
stream  being  now  not  only  shallow,  but  blocked 
here  and  there  with  great  and  rough  fragments 
of  stone.  Hazel  pushed  the  boat  into  the  angle 
out  of  the  current,  and  moored  her  fast.  He  and 
Welch  then  got  ashore,  and  Miss  Rolleston  was 
standing  at  the  four  trees.  He  went  to  her  and 
said  enthusiastically,  "  This  is  to  be  your  house. 
Is  it  not  a  beautiful  site  ?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  beautiful  site,  but — forgive  me — 
I  really  don't  see  the  house,"  was  her  reply. 

"But  you  see  the  frame-work." 

Helen  looked  all  about,  and  then  said,  rue- 
fully, "I  suppose  I  am  blind,  sir,  or  else  you  are 
dreaming,  for  I  see  nothing  at  all." 

"Why,  here's  a  roof  ready  made,  and  the 
frame  of  a  wall.  We  have  .only  to  wattle  a  screen 
between  these  four  uprights." 

"  Only  to  wattle  a  screen  !  But  I  don't  know 
what  wattling  a  screen  is.     Who  does  ?" 

"  Why,  you  get  some  of  the  canes  that  grow  a 
little  farther  up  the  river,  and  a  certain  long  wiry 
grass  I  have  marked  down,  and  then  you  fix  and 
weave  till  you  make  a  screen  from  tree  to  tree  ; 
this  could  be  patched  with  wet  clay ;  I  know 
where  there  is  plenty  of  that.  Meantime  see 
what  is  done  to  our  hands.  The  crown  of  this 
great  palm-tree  lies  at  the  southern  apertui'e  of 


your  house,  and  blocks  it  entirely  up  ;  that  will 
keep  off  the  only  cold  wind,  the  south  wind,  from 
you  to-night.  Then  look  at  these  long,  spiky 
leaves  interlaced  over  your  head.  (These  trees 
are  screw-pines.)  There  is  a  roof  ready  made. 
You  must  have  another  roof  underneath  that, 
but  it  will  do  for  a  day  or  two. " 

"  But  you  will  wattle  the  screen  directly,"  said 
Helen.  "  Begin  at  once,  please.  I  am  anxious 
to  see  a  screen  wattled." 

"Well,"  said  Welch,  who  had  joined  them, 
' '  landsmen  are  queer  folk,  the  best  of  'em.  Why, 
miss,  it  would  take  him  a  week  to  screen  you 
with  rushes  and  reeds,  and  them  sort  of  weeds ; 
and  I'd  do  it  in  half  an  hour,  if  I  was  the  Tom 
Welch  I  used  to  be.  Why,  there's  spare  canvas 
enough  in  the  boat  to  go  between  these  four  trees 
breast  high,  and  then  there's  the  foresel  besides  ; 
the  mainsel  is  all  you  and  me  shall  want,  sir." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me, "said  Miss  Rolleston,  "I  will 
not  be  sheltered  at  the  expense  of  my  friends." 

"Welch,  you  are  a  trump,"  said  Hazel,  and 
ran  off  for  the  spare  canvas.  He  brought  it  and 
the  carpenter's  basket  of  tools.  They  went  to 
work,  and  Miss  Rolleston  insisted  on  taking  part 
in  it.  Finding  her  so  disposed,  Hazel  said  that 
they  had  better  divide  their  labors,  since  the  time 
was  short.  Accordingly  he  took  the  axe  and 
chopped  off  a  great  many  scales  of  the  palm-tree, 
and  lighted  a  great  fire  between  the  trees,  while 
the  other  two  worked  on  the  canvas. 

"  This  is  to  dry  the  soil  as  well  as  cook  our 
provisions,"  said  he  ;  "  and  now  I  must  go  and 
find  food.  Is  there  any  thing  you  fancy  ?"  He 
turned  his  head  from  the  fire  he  was  lighting  and 
addressed  this  question  both  to  Welch  and  Miss 
Rolleston. 

Miss  Rolleston  stared  at  this  question,  then 
smiled,  and,  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  lady,  said,  "I 
think  I  should  like  a  good  large  cocoa-nut,  if  you 
can  find  one."  She  felt  sure  there  was  no  other 
eatable  thing  in  the  whole  island. 

"I  wants  a  cabbage,"  said  Welch,  in  a  loud 
voice. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Welch,  we  are  not  at  home,"  said 
Miss  Rolleston,  blushing  at  the  preposterous  de- 
mand. 

"ISIo,  miss,  in  Capericorn.  Whereby  we  sha'n't 
have  to  pay  nothing  for  this  here  cabbage.  I'll 
tell  ye,  miss  :  when  a  sailor  comes  ashore  he  al- 
ways goes  in  for  green  vegetables,  for  why,  he  ha3 
eaten  so  much  junk  and  biscuit,  nature  sings  out 
for  greens.  Me  and  my  shipmates  was  paid  off 
at  Portsmouth  last  year,  and  six  of  us  agreed  to 
dine  together  and  each  order  his  dish.  Blest  if 
six  boiled  legs  of  mutton  did  not  come  up  smok- 
ing hot :  three  was  with  cabbage,  and  three  with 
turmots.  Mine  was  with  turmots.  But  them  I 
don't  ask,  so  nigh  the  Line ;  don't  ye  go  to  think, 
because  I'm  sick,  and  the  lady  and  you  is  so  kind 
to  me,  and  to  him  that  is  a  waiting  outside  them 
there  shoals  for  me,  as  I'm  onreasonable ;  tur- 
mots I  wish  you  both,  and  plenty  of  'em,  Avhen 
some  whaler  gets  driven  out  of  her  course  and 
picks  you  up,  and  carries  you  into  northern  lat- 
itudes where  turmots  grow ;  but  cabbage  is  my 
right,  cabbage  is  my  due,  being  paid  off  in  a  man- 
ner ;  for  the  ship  is  foundered  and  I'm  ashore : 
cabbage  I  ask  for,  as  a  seaman  that  has  dkne  his 
duty,  and  a  man  that  won't  live  to  eat  many 
more  of  'em  ;  and  "  (losing  his  temper)  "  if  you 
are  the  man  I  take  you  for,  you'll  run  and  fetch 


FOUL  PLAY. 


59 


me  a  cabbage  fresb  from  the  tree  "  (recovering 
his  temper).  "I  know  I  didn't  ought  to  ax  a 
parson  to  shin  up  a  tree  for  me :  but  Lord  bless 
you,  there  ain't  no  sarcy  little  boys  a  looking  on, 
and  here's  a  poor  fellow  mostly  dying  for  it." 

Miss  Rolleston  looked  at  Mr.  Hazel  with 
alarm  in  every  feature,  and  whispered,  "  Cab- 
bage from  the  tree.     Is  he  wandering  ?" 

Hazel  smiled.      "No,"  said  he.      "He  has 
picked  up  a  fable  of  these  seas,  that  there  is  a  ! 
tree  which  grows  cabbages." 

Welch  heard  him,  and  said,  with  due  warmth, 
"Of  course  there  is  a  tree  on  all  these  islands 
that  grows  cabbages;  that  was  known  a  hundred  j 
years  before  you  was  born,  and  shipmates  of  I 
mine  have  eaten  them." 

"Excuse  me,  what  those  old  Admirals  and  ! 
Buccaneers,  that  set  the  legend  afloat,  were  so  | 
absurd  as  to  call  a  cabbage,  and  your  shipmates  ! 
may  have  eaten  for  one,  is  nothing  on  earth  but  | 
the  last  year's  growth  of  the  palm-tree. " 

"Palm-tree  be ,"  said  Welch  ;  and  there- 
upon ensued  a  hot  argument,  which  Helen's  good 
sense  cut  short. 

"Mr.  Hazel,"  said  she,  "can  you  by  any  pos- 
sibility get  our  poor  friend  the  thing  he  wants?" 

"  Oh,  that  is  quite  within  the  bounds  of  possi- 
bility," said  Hazel,  dryly. 

"  Well,  then,  suppose  you  begin  by  getting 
him  the  thing.  Then  I  will  boil  the  thing,  and 
he  will  eat  the  thing ;  and  after  all  that  it  will 
be  time  to  argue  about  the  name  we  shall  give  to 
the  thing." 

The  good  sense  of  this  struck  Mr.  Hazel  for- 
cibly. He  started  off  at  once,  armed  with  the 
axe,  and  a  net  bag  Welch  had  made  since  he  be- 
came unfit  for  heavy  labor :  he  called  back  to 
them  as  he  went  to  put  the  pots  on. 

Welch  and  Miss  Rolleston  complied ;  and  then 
the  sailor  showed  the  lady  how  to  sew  sailor-wise, 
driving  the  large  needle  with  the  palm  of  the 
hand,  guarded  by  a  piece  of  leather.  They  had 
nailed  two  breadths  of  canvas  to  the  trees  on  the 
north  and  west  sides,  and  run  the  breadths  rap- 
idly together ;  and  the  water  was  boiling  and  i 
bubbling  in  the  balers,  when  Miss  Rolleston  ut- 
tered a  scream,  for  Hazel  came  running  over  the  ; 
prostrate  palm-tree  as  if  it  was  a  proper  bridge, 
and  lighted  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"  Lot  one,"  said  he  cheerfully,  and  produced 
from  his  net  some  limes,  two  cocoa-nuts,  and  a 
land-turtle :  from  this  last  esculent  Miss  Rolles- 
ton withdrew  with  undisguised  horror,  and  it  was 
in  vain  he  assured  her  it  was  a  great  delicacy. 

"  No  matter :  it  is  a  reptile.  Oh,  please  send  it 
away." 

"The   Queen  of  the  Island  reprieves  you," 
said  he,  and  put  down  the  terrapin,  which  went  : 
off  very  leisurely  for  a  reprieved  reptile. 

Then  Hazel  produced  a  fine  bream,  which  he 
had  found  struggling  in  a  rock-pool,  the  tide  hav-  ! 
ing  turned,  and  three  sea  crayfish,  bigger  than  i 
any  lobster.     He  chopped  their  heads  off  outside,  | 
and  threw  their  tails  into  the  pots;  he  stuck  a 
piece  of  pointed  wood  through  the  bream,  and 
gave  it  to  Welch  to  toast ;  but  Welch  waved  it 
aside. 

"  I  see  no  cabbage,"  said  he,  grimly. 

"Oh,  I  forgot :  but  that  is  soon  found,"  said 
Hazel.  "Here,  give  me  the  fish,  and  you  take 
the  saw,  and  examine  the  head  of  this  palm-tree, 
which  lies  at  Miss  Rolleston's  door.     Saw  awav 


the  succulent  part  of  last  year's  growth,  and  bring 
it  here." 

Welch  got  up  slowly. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,  Mr.  Welch,"  said  Miss  Rol- 
leston. 

She  will  not  be  alone  with  me  for  a  moment, 
if  she  can  help  it,  thought  Hazel,  and  sat  moodv 
by  the  fire.  But  he  shook  off  his  sadness,  and 
forced  on  a  cheerful  look  the  moment  they  came 
back.  They  brought  with  them  a  vegetable  very 
like  the  heart  of  a  cabbage,  only  longer  and 
whiter. 

"  There,"  said  Welch,  "  what  d'ye  call 
that  ?" 

"  The  last  year's  growth  of  the  palm,"  said  Ha- 
zel,  calmly. 

This  vegetable  was  cut  in  two  and  put  into 
the  pots. 

"There,  take  the  toasting-fork  again,"  said 
Hazel  to  Welch,  and  drew  out  from  his  net  three 
huge  scallop-shells.  "  Soup-plates,"  said  he, 
and  washed  them  in  the  running  stream :  then 
put  them  before  the  fire  to  dry. 

While  the  fish  and  vegetable  were  cooking,  he 
went  and  cut  off  some  of  the  leafy,  pinnated 
branches  of  the  palm-tree,  and  fastened  them  hor- 
izontally above  the  strips  of  canvas.  Each  palm- 
branch  traversed  a  whole  side  of  the  bower.  This 
closed  the  northern  and  western  sides. 

On  the  southern  side,  the  prostrate  palm-tree, 
on  striking  the  ground,  had  so  crushed  its  boughs 
and  leaves  together  as  to  make  a  thick  wall  of 
foliage. 

Then  he  took  to  making  forks  ;  and  primitive 
ones  they  were.  He  selected  a  bough  the  size 
of  a  thick  walking-stick ;  sawed  it  oft"  the  tree  : 
sawed  a  piece  six  inches  long  off  it,  pealed  that, 
split  it  in  four,  and,  with  his  knife,  gave  each 
piece  three  points,  by  merely  tapering  off  and 
serrating  one  end ;  and  so  he  made  a  fork  a  min- 
ute. Then  he  brought  all  the  rugs  and  things 
from  the  boat,  and,  the  ground  being  now  thor- 
oughly dried  by  the  fire,  placed  them  for  seats  ; 
gave  each  person  a  large  leaf  for  a  plate,  besides  a 
scallop-shell ;  and  served  out  supper.  It  was  eat- 
en with  rare  appetite ;  the  palm-tree  vegetable 
in  particular  was  delicious,  tasting  between  a  cab- 
bage and  a  cocoa-nut. 

When  they  had  supped,  Hazel  removed  the 
plates  and  went  to  the  boat.  He  returned,  drag- 
ging the  foremast  and  foresail,  which  were  small, 
and  called  Welch  out.  They  agreed  to  rig  the 
mainsail  tarpaulin-wise  and  sleep  in  the  boat. 
Accordingly  they  made  themselves  very  busy 
screening  the  east  side  of  Miss  Rolleston's  new 
abode  with  the  foresail,  and  fastened  a  loop  and 
drove  a  nail  into  the  tree,  and  looped  the  sail  to 
it,  then  suddenly  bade  her  good-night  in  cheer- 
ful tones,  and  were  gone  in  a  moment,  leaving 
her  to  her  repose,  as  they  imagined.  Hazel  in 
particular,  having  used  all  his  ingenuity  to  secure 
her  personal  comfort,  was  now  too  bent  on  show- 
ing her  the  most  delicate  respect  and  forbearance 
to  think  of  any  thing  else.  But,  justly  counting 
on  the  delicacy,  he  had  forgotten  the  timidity  of 
her  sex,  and  her  first  night  in  the  island  was  a 
terribly  trying  one. 

Thrice  she  opened  her  mouth  to  call  Welch 
and  Hazel  back,  but  could  not.  Yet,  when  their 
footsteps  were  out  of  hearing,  she  would  have 
given  the  world  to  have  them  between  her  and 
the  perils  with  which  she  felt  herself  surrounded. 


GO 


FOUL  PLAY. 


Tigers  ;  Snakes  ;  Scorpions  ;  Savages  !  what 
would  become  of  her  during  the  long  night  ? 

She  sat  and  cowered  before  the  hot  embers. 
She  listened  to  what  seemed  the  angry  roar  of 
the  sea.  What  with  the  stillness  of  the  night  and 
her  sharpened  senses  she  heard  it  all  round  the 
island.  She  seemed  environed  with  peril,  and 
yet  surrounded  by  desolation.  No  one  at  hand 
to  save  her  in  time  from  a  wild  beast.  No  one 
anywhere  near  except  a  sick  sailor  and  one  she 
would  almost  rather  die  than  call  singly  to  her 
aid,  for  he  had  once  told  her  he  loved  her. 

"Oh,  papa !  oh,  Arthur  !"  she  cried,  "are  you 
praying  for  your  poor  Helen  ?"  Then  she  wept 
and  prayed  ;  and  half  nerved  herself  to  bear  the 
worst.  Finally,  her  vague  fears  completely  over- 
mastered her.  Then  she  had  recourse  to  a  strat- 
agem that  belongs  to  her  sex — she  hid  herself 
from  the  danger,  and  the  danger  from  her:  she 
covered  herself  face  and  all,  and  so  lay  trem- 
bling, and  longing  for  the  day. 

At  the  first  streak  of  dawn  she  fled  from  her 
place  of  torture,  and  after  plunging  her  face  and 
hands  in  the  river,  which  did  her  a  world  of  good, 
she  went  off,  and  entered  the  jungle,  and  search- 
ed it  closely,  so  far  as  she  could  penetrate  it. 
Soon  she  heard  "  Miss  Rolleston  "  called  in  anx- 
ious tones.  But  she  tossed  her  little  head,  and 
revenged  herself  for  her  night  of  agony  by  not 
replying. 

However,  Nature  took  her  in  hand  :  imperious 
hunger  drew  her  back  to  her  late  place  of  torture ; 
and  there  she  found  a  fire,  and  Hazel  cooking 
crayfish.  She  ate  the  crayfish  heartily,  and 
drank  cocoa-nut  milk  out  of  half  a  cocoa-nut, 
which  the  ingenious  Hazel  had  already  sawn, 
polished,  and  mounted  for  her. 

After  that,  Hazel's  whole  day  was  occupied 
in  stripping  a  tree  that  stood  on  the  high  west- 
ern promontory  of  the  bay,  and  building  up  the 
materials  of  a  bonfire  a  few  yards  from  it,  that, 
if  any  whaler  should  stray  that  way,  they  might 
not  be  at  a  loss  for  means  to  attract  her  attention. 

Welch  was  very  ill  all  day,  and  Miss  Rolles- 
ton nursed  him.  He  got  about  towards  evening, 
and  Miss  Rolleston  asked  him,  rather  timidly,  if 
he  could  put  her  up  a  bell-rope. 

"  Why,  yes,  miss,"  said  Welch,  "  that  is  easy 
enough  ;  but  I  don't  see  no  bell." 

Oh,  she  did  not  want  a  bell — she  only  wanted 
a  bell-rope. 

Hazel  came  up,  during  this  conversation,  and 
she  then  gave  her  reason. 

"Because,  then,  if  Mr.  Welch  is  ill  in  the 
night,  and  wants  me,  I  could  come  to  him.  Or — " 
finding  herself  getting  near  the  real  reason  she 
stopped  short. 

"  Or  what?"  inquired  Hazel,  eagerly. 

She  replied  to  Welch.  "When  tigers  and 
things  come  to  me,  I  can  let  you  know,  Mr. 
Welch,  if  you  have  any  curiosity  about  the  result 
of  their  visit." 

"Tigers!"  said  Hazel,  in  answer  to  this  side 
slap:  "there  are  no  tigers  here;  no  large  animals 
of  prey  exist  in  the  Pacific." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"  It  is  notorious ;  naturalists  are  agreed." 

"But  I  am  not.  I  heard  noises  all  night.  And 
little  I  expected  that  any  thing  of  me  would  be  left 
this  morning,  except, perhaps,  my  back  hair.  Mr. 
Welch,  you  are  clever  at  rigging  things, — that 
is  what  you  call  it, — and  so  please  rig  me  a  bell- 


rope,  then  I  shall  not  be  eaten  alive  without  cre- 
ating some  little  disturbance." 

"  I'll  do  it  miss,"  said  Welch, "  this  very  night." 

Hazel  said  nothing,  but  pondered.  Accord- 
ingly, that  very  evening  a  piece  of  stout  twine, 
with  a  stone  at  the  end  of  it,  hung  down  from 
the  roof  of  Helen's  house ;  and  this  twine  clove 
the  air,  until  it  reached  a  ring  upon  the  main- 
mast of  the  cutter;  thence  it  descended,  and 
was  to  be  made  fast  to  something  or  somebody. 
The  young  lady  inquired  no  further.  The  very 
sight  of  this  bell-rope  was  a  great  comfort  to 
her ;  it  reunited  her  to  civilized  life. 

That  night  she  lay  down,  and  quaked  consid- 
erably less.  Yet  she  woke  several  times ;  and 
an  hour  before  daylight  she  heard  distinctly  a 
noise  that  made  her  flesh  creep.  It  was  like  the 
snoring  of  some  great  animals.  This  horrible 
sound  was  faint  and  distant ;  but  she  heard  it 
between  the  roll  of  the  waves,  and  that  showed 
it  was  not  the  sea  roaring ;  she  hid  herself  in  her 
rugs,  and  cowered  till  daybreak.  A  score  of 
times  she  was  minded  to  pull  her  bell-rope  ;  but 
always  a  womanly  feeling,  strong  as  her  love  of 
life,  withheld  her.  "Time  to  pull  that  bell- 
rope  when  the  danger  was  present  or  imminent," 
she  thought  to  herself.  "The  Thing  will  come 
smelling  about  before  it  attacks  me,  and  then  I 
will  pull  the  bell;"  and  so  she  passed  an  hour 
of  agony. 

Next  morning,  at  daybreak,  Hazel  met  her 
just  issuing  from  her  hut,  and  pointing  to  his 
net  told  her  he  was  going  to  forage  ;  and  would 
she  be  good  enough  to  make  the  fire  and  have 
boiling  water  ready  ?  he  was  sorry  to  trouble  her, 
but  poor  Welch  was  worse  this  morning.  Miss 
Rolleston  cut  short  his  excuses.  "Pray  do  not 
take  me  for  a  child  ;  of  course  I  will  light  the  fire, 
and  boil  the  water.  Only  I  have  no  lucifer 
matches." 

"  Here  are  two,"  said  he.  "I  carry  the  box 
wrapped  in  oil-skin  :  for  if  any  thing  happen  to 
them,  Heaven  help  us." 

He  crossed  the  prostrate  palm-tree,  and  dived 
into  the  wood.  It  was  a  large  beautiful  wood, 
and,  except  at  the  western  edge,  the  trees  were 
all  of  the  palm-tree  genus,  but  contained  sever- 
al species,  including  the  cocoa-nut  tree.  The 
turf  ran  under  these  trees  for  about  forty  yards, 
and  then  died  gradually  away  under  the  same 
thick  shade  which  destroyed  all  other  vegetation 
in  this  wood,  and  made  it  so  easy  to  sec  and  trav- 
el. 

He  gathered  a  few  cocoa-nuts  that  had  burst 
out  of  their  ripe  pods  and  fallen  to  the  ground  ; 
and  ran  on  till  he  reached  a  belt  of  trees  and 
shrubs,  that  bounded  the  palm  forest.  Here  his 
progress  was  no  longer  easy:  but  he  found  trees 
covered  with  a  small  fruit  resembling  quinces  in 
every  particular,  of  look,  taste,  and  smell,  and 
that  made  him  persevere,  since  it  was  most  im- 
portant to  learn  the  useful  products  of  the  island. 
Presently  he  burst  through  some  brushwood  into 
a  swampy  bottom  surrounded  by  low  trees,  and 
instantly  a  dozen  large  birds  of  the  osprey  kind 
rose  flapping  into  the  air  like  windmills  rising. 
He  was  quite  startled  by  the  whirring  and  flap- 
ping, and  not  a  little  amazed  at  the  appearance 
of  the  place.  Here  was  a  very  charnel-house ; 
so  thick  lay  the  shells,  skeletons,  and  loose  bones 
offish.  Here  too  he  found  three  terrapin  killed 
but  not  ea-ten :  and  also  some  fish,  more  or  less 


FOUL  PLAY. 


61 


pecked.  "Aha!  my  worthy  executioners,  much 
obliged,"  said  he:  "you  have  saved  me  that 
job :"  and  into  the  bag  went  the  terrapin,  and 
two  plump  fish,  but  slightly  mutilated.  Before 
he  had  gone  many  yards,  back  came  the  sailing 
wings,  and  the  birds  settled  again  before  his  eyes. 
The  rest  of  the  low  wood  was  but  thin,  and  he 
soon  emerged  upon  the  open  country  ;  but  it  was 
most  unpromising ;  and  fitter  for  geese  than 
men  :  a  vast  sedgy  swamp,  with  water  in  the 
middle,  thin  fringes  of  great  fern-trees,  and  here 
and  there  a  disconsolate  tree  like  a  weeping- 
willow,  and  at  the  end  of  this  lake  and  swamp, 
which  all  together  formed  a  triangle,  was  a  bar- 
ren hill  without  a  blade  of  vegetation  on  it,  and 
a  sort  of  jagged  summit,  volcanic  !  Hazel  did 
not  at  all  like  the  look  of. 

Somewhat  dismayed  at  finding  so  large  a  slice 
of  the  island  worthless,  he  returned  through  the 
wood,  guiding  himself  due  west  by  his  pocket- 
compass,  and  so  got  down  to  the  shore,  where 
he  found  scallops  and  crayfish  in  incredible 
abundance.  Literally,  he  had  only  to  go  into 
the  water  and  gather  them.  But  "enough  "  is  as 
good  as  "  a  feast."  He  ran  to  the  pots  with 
his  miscellaneous  bag,  and  was  not  received  ac- 
cording to  his  deserts.  Miss  Roileston  told  him, 
a  little  severely,  the  water  had  been  boiling  a 
long  time.  Then  be  produced  his  provender, 
by  way  of  excuse. 

"Tortoises  again!"  said  she,  and  shuddered 
visibly. 

But  the  quinces  and  cocoa-nuts  were  gracious- 
ly received.  Welch,  however,  cried  out  for  cab- 
bage. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  said  Hazel.  "For 
every  such  cabbage  a  king  must  die. " 

"Goodness  me!" 

"  A  monarch  of  the  grove." 

"  Oh,  a  King  Log.  Why,  then,  down  with 
them  all,  of  course ;  sooner  than  dear  Mr.  Welch 
shall  go  without  his  cabbage." 

He  cast  a  look  of  admiration  on  her,  which 
she  avoided,  and  very  soon  his  axe  was  heard 
ringing  in  the  wood  hard  by.  Then  came  a  loud 
crash.  Then  another.  Hazel  came  running 
with  the  cabbage,  and  a  cocoa-pod.  "There," 
said  he,  "and  there  are  a  hundred  more  about. 
Whilst  you  cook  that  for  Welch,  I  will  store 
them."  Accordingly  he  returned  to  the  wood 
with  his  net,  and  soon  came  back  with  five  pods 
in  it,  each  as  big  as  a  large  pumpkin. 

He  chucked  these  one  at  a  time  across  the 
river,  and  then  went  for  more.  It  took  him  all 
the  afternoon  to  get  all  the  pods  across  the  river. 
He  was  obliged  to  sit  down  and  rest. 

But  a  suggestion  of  Helen's  soon  set  him  to 
work  again. 

"You  were  kind  enough  to  say  you  would  store 
these  for  me.  Could  you  not  store  them  so  as  to 
wall  out  those  terrible  beasts  with  them  ?" 

"What  terrible  beasts?" 

"That  roar  so  all  night,  and  don't  eat  us, 
only  because  they  have  not  found  out  we  are 
here  yet.     But  they  will." 

"  I  deny  their  existence,"  said  Hazel.  "  But 
I'll  wall  them  out  all  the  same,"  said  he. 

"Pray  do,"  said  Helen.  "Wall  them  out 
first,  and  disprove  them  afterwards ;  I  shall  be 
better  able  to  believe  they  don't  exist,  when  they 
are  well  walled  out, — much." 

Hazel  went  to  work,  and  with  her  assistance 


laid  cocoa-pods  two  wide  and  three  deep,  out- 
side the  northern  and  western  sides  of  her  leafy 
bower,  and  he  promised  to  complete  the  walls 
by  the  same  means  in  two  days  more. 

They  all  then  supped  together,  and,  to  oblige 
him,  she  ate  a  little  of  the  terrapin,  and,  when 
they  parted  for  the  night,  she  thanked  him,  and 
said,  with  a  deep  blush,  "You  have  been  a  good 
friend  to  me — of  late." 

He  colored  high,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with 
delight ;  and  she  noticed,  and  almost  wished  she 
had  kept  her  gratitude  to  herself. 

That  night,  what  with  her  bell-rope  and  her 
little  bit  of  a  wall,  she  was  somewhat  less  timo- 
rous, and  went  to  sleep  early. 

But  even  in  sleep  she  was  watchful,  and  she 
was  awakened  by  a  slight  sound  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  boat. 

She  lay  watching,  but  did  not  stir. 

Presently  she  heard  a  footstep. 

With  a  stifled  cry  she  bounded  up,  and  her 
first  impulse  was  to  rush  out  of  the  tent.  But 
she  conquered  this,  and,  gliding  to  the  south 
side  of  her  bower,  she  peered  through  the  palm- 
leaves,  and  the  first  thing  she  saw  was  the 
figure  of  a  man  standing  between  her  and  the 
boat. 

She  drew  her  breath  hard.  The  outline  of 
the  man  was  somewhat  indistinct.  But  it  was 
not  a  savage :  the  man  was  clothed ;  and  his 
stature  betrayed  him. 

He  stood  still  for  some  time.  "  He  is  listening 
to  see  if  I  am  awake,"  said  Helen  to  herself. 

The  figure  moved  towards  her  bovver. 

Then  all  in  a  moment  she  became  another 
woman.  She  did  not  rely  on  her  bell-rope ;  she 
felt  it  was  fast  to  nothing  that  could  help  her. 
She  looked  round  for  no  weapon  ;  she  trusted  to 
herself.  She  drew  herself  hastily  up,  and  fold- 
ed her  arms ;  her  bosom  panted,  but  her  cheek 
never  paled.  Her*  modesty  was  alarmed  ;  her 
Mood  was  up,  and  life  or  death  were  nothing  to 
her. 

The  footsteps  came  nearer:  they  stopped  at 
her  door ;  they  went  north ;  they  came  back 
south.  They  kept  her  in  this  high-wrought  atti- 
tude for  half  an  hour.  Then  they  retired  softly; 
and,  when  they  were  gone,  she  gave  way,  and 
fell  on  her  knees,  and  began  to  cry  hysterically. 
Then  she  got  calmer,  and  then  she  wondered 
and  puzzled  herself;  but  she  slept  no  more  that 
night. 

In  the  morning  she  found  that  the  fire  was 
lighted  on  a  sort  of  shelf  close  to  the  boat.  Mr. 
Hazel  had  cut  the  shelf  and  lighted  the  fire 
there  for  Welch's  sake,  who  had  complained  of 
cold  in  the  night. 

Whilst  Hazel  was  gone  for  the  crayfish, 
Welch  asked  Helen  to  go  for  her  prayer-book. 
She  brought  it  directly,  and  turned  the  leaves 
to  find  the  prayers  for  the  sick.  But  she  was 
soon  undeceived  as  to  his  intention. 

"  Sam  had  it  wrote  down  how  the  Proserpine 
was  foundered,  and  I  should  like  to  lie  along- 
side my  messmate  on  that  there  paper,  as  well 
as  in  t'other  place  "  (meaning  the  grave).  "  Be- 
gin as  Sam  did,  that  this  is  my  last  word." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not.  Oh,  Mr.  Welch,  pray  do 
not  leave  me !" 

"Well,  well  then,  never  mind  that;  but  just 
put  down  as  I  heard  Sam  ;  and  his  dying  words, 
that  the  parson  took  down,  were  the  truth." 


62 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"I  have  written  that." 

"And  that  the  two  holes  was  on  her  port 
side,  and  seven  foot  from  her  starn-post ;  and  / 
say  them  very  augers  that  is  in  our  cutter  made 
them  holes.     Set  down  that. " 

"It  is  down." 
'  "  Then  I'll  put  my  mark  under  it ;  and  you 
are  my  witness."  • 

Helen,  anxious  to  please  him  in  every  thing, 
showed  him  where  to  put  his  mark.  He  did  so ; 
and  she  signed  her  name  as  his  witness. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Welch,"  said  she,  "do  not 
you  fret  about  the  loss  of  the  ship ;  you  should 
rather  think  how  good  Providence  has  been  to 
us  in  saving  us  three  out  of  so  many  that  sailed 
in  that  poor  ship.  That  Wylie  was  a  wicked 
man  ;  but  he  is  drowned,  or  starved,  no  doubt, 
and  there  is  an  end  of  him.  You  are  alive, 
and  we  are  all  three  to  see  Old  England  again. 
But  to  live,  you  must  eat ;  and  so  now  do  pray 
make  a  good  breakfast  to-day.  Tell  me  what 
you  can  fancy.     A  cabbage?" 

"What,  you  own  it  is  a  cabbage  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Helen,  coaxing. 
"You  must  excuse  Mr.  Hazel;  these  learned 
men  are  so  crochety  in  some  things,  and  go  by 
books ;  but  you  and  I  go  by  our  senses,  and  to 
us  a  cabbage  is  a  cabbage,  grow  where  it  will. 
Will  you  have  one  ?" 

"  No,  miss,  not  this  morning.  What  I  wants 
this  morning  very  bad,  indeed,  it  is, — I  wants  a 
drink  made  of  the  sweet-smelling  leaves,  like  as 
you  strewed  over  my  messmate, — the  Lord  in 
heaven  bless  you  for  it." 

"Oh,  "Mr.  Welch,  that  is  a  curious  fancy; 
but  you  shall  not  ask  me  twice  for  any  thing ; 
the  jungle  is  full  of  them,  and  I'll  fetch  you 
some  in  five  minutes.  So  you  must  boil  the 
water." 

She  scudded  away  to  the  jungle,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  some  aromatic  leaves.  Whilst  they 
were  infusing,  Hazel  came  up,  and,  on  being  in- 
formed of  Welch's  fancy,  made  no  opposition ; 
but,  on  the  contrary,  said  that  such  men  had 
sometimes  very  happy  inspirations.  He  tasted 
it,  however,  and  said  the  smell  was  the  best  part 
of  it  in  his  opinion.  He  then  put  it  aside  to 
cool  for  the  sick  man's  use. 

They  ate  their  usual  breakfast,  and  then 
Welch  sipped  his  spiced  tea,  as  he  called  it. 
Morning  and  afternoon  he  drank  copious 
draughts  of  it,  and  seemed  to  get  suddenly  bet- 
ter, and  told  them  not  to  hang  about  him  any 
longer ;  but  go  to  their  work :  he  was  all  right 
now. 

To  humor  him  they  went  off  in  different  di- 
rections ;  Hazel  with  his  axe  to  level  cocoa-nut 
trees;  and  Helen  to  search  for  fruits  in  the 
jungle. 

She  came  back  in  about  an  hour,  very  proud 
of  some  pods  she  had  found  with  nutmegs  inside 
them.  She  ran  to  Welch.  He  was  not  in  the 
boat.  She  saw  his  waistcoat,  however,  folded 
and  lying  on  the  thwart :  so  she  knew  he  could 
nov  be  far  off,  and  concluded  he  was  in  her 
bovver.  But  he  was  not  there ;  and  she  called 
to  iVlr.  Hazel.  He  came  to  the  side  of  the  river 
laden  with  cocoa-nuts. 

"  la  he  with  vou  ?"  said  Helen. 

"Who?    Welch?    No." 

"  Well,  then,  he  is  not  here.  Oh  dear !  some- 
thing is  the  matter. 


Hazel  came  across  directly.  And  they  both 
began  to  run  anxiously  to  every  part  whence  they 
could  command  a  view  to  any  distance. 

They  could  not  see  him  anywhere,  and  met 
with  blank  faces  at  the  bower. 

Then  Helen  made  a  discovery. 

This  very  day,  while  hanging  about  the  place, 
Hazel  had  torn  up  from  the  edge  of  the  river  an 
old  trunk,  whose  roots  had  been  loosened  by  the 
water  washing  away  the  earth  that  held  them, 
and  this  stump  he  had  set  up  in  her  bower  for  a  ta- 
ble, after  sawing  the  roots  down  into  legs.  Well, 
on  the  smooth  part  of  this  table  lay  a  little  pile 
of  money,  a  ring  with  a  large  pearl  in  it,  and 
two  gold  earrings,  Helen  had  often  noticed  in 
Welch's  ears. 

She  pointed  at  these  and  turned  pale.  Then, 
suddenly  waving  her  hand  to  Hazel  to  follow 
her,  she  darted  out  of  the  bower,  and,  in  a  mo- 
ment, she  was  at  the  boat. 

There  she  found,  beside  his  waistcoat,  his 
knife,  and  a  little  pile  of  money,  placed  careful- 
ly on  the  thwart ;  and,  underneath  it,  his  jacket 
rolled  up,  and  his  shoes  and  sailor's  cap,  all  put 
neatly  and  in  order. 

Hazel  found  her  looking  at  them.  He  began 
to  have  vague  misgivings.  "What  does  this 
mean  ?"  he  said,  faintly. 

"  *  What  does  it  mean  !' "  cried  Helen  in  ago- 
ny. "Don't  you  see?  A  Legacy!  The  poor 
thing  has  divided  his  little  all.  Oh,  my  heart! 
What  has  become  of  him  ?"  Then,  with  one  of 
those  inspirations  her  sex  have,  she  cried,  "  Ah  ! 
Cooper's  grave !" 

Hazel,  though  not  so  quick  as  she  was,  caught 
her  meaning  at  a  word,  and  flew  down  the  slope 
to  the  sea-shore.  The  tide  was  out  :  a  long  ir- 
regular track  of  footsteps  indented  the  sand. 
He  stopped  a  moment  and  looked  at  them.  They 
pointed  towards  that  cleft  where  the  grave  was. 
He  followed  them  all  across  the  sand.  They 
entered  the  cleft,  and  did  not  return.  Full  of 
heavy  foreboding,  he  rushed  into  the  cleft. 

Yes;  his  arms  hanging  on  each  side  of  the 
grave,  and  his  cheek  laid  on  it,  there  lay  Tom 
Welch,  with  a  loving  smile  on  his  dead  face. 
Only  a  man  ;  yet  faithful  as  a  dog. 

Hazel  went  back  slowly,  and  crying.  Of  all 
men  living,  he  could  best  appreciate  Fidelity, 
and  mourn  its  fate. 

But  as  he  drew  near  Helen  he  dried  his  eyes ; 
for  it  was  his  duty  to  comfort  her. 

She  had  at  first  endeavored  to  follow  him ; 
but  after  a  few  steps  her  knees  smote  together, 
and  she  was  fain  to  sit  down  on  the  grassy  slope 
that  overlooked  the  sea. 

The  sun  was  setting  huge  and  red  over  that 
vast  and  peaceful  sea. 

She  put  her  hands  to  her  head,  and,  sick  at 
heart,  looked  heavily  at  that  glorious  and  peace- 
ful sight.  Hazel  came  up  to  her.  She  looked 
at  his  face,  and  that  look  was  enough  for  her 
She  rocked  herself  gently  to  and  fro. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  in  a  broken  voice  :  "he  was 
there — quite  dead." 

He  sat  gently  down  by  her  side,  and  looked 
at  that  setting  sun  and  illimitable  ocean,  and  his 
heart  felt  deadly  sad.  "  He  is  gone — and  we 
are  alone — on  this  island." 

The  man  said  this  in  one  sense  only :  but  the 
woman  heard  it  in  more  than  one. 

Alone  ! 


FOUL  PLAY. 


63 


She  glanced  timidly  round  at  him,  and,  with- 
out rising,  edged  a  little  away  from  him,  and 
wept  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

After  a  long  silence,  Hazel  asked  her  in  a 
low  voice  if  she  could  be  there  in  half  an  hour. 
She  said  yes,  in  the  same  tone,  but  without  turn- 
ing her  head.  On  reaching  the  graves,  she  found 
that  Hazel  had  spared  her  a  sad  sight.  Noth- 
ing remained  but  to  perform  the  service.  When 
it  was  over  she  went  slowly  away  in  deep  dis- 
tress on  more  accounts  than  one.  In  due  course 
Hazel  came  to  her  bower,  but  she  was  not  there. 
Then  he  lighted  the  fire,  and  prepared  every 
thing  for  supper ;  and  he  was  so  busy,  and  her 
foot  so  light,  he  did  not  hear  her  come.  But  by- 
and-by,  lifting  his  head,  he  saw  her  looking  wist- 
fully at  him,  as  if  she  would  read  his  soul  in  his 
minutest  actions.  He  started  and  brightened 
all  over  with  pleasure  at  the  sudden  sight  of  her, 
and  said  eagerly,  "  Your  supper  is  quite  ready." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  she,  sadly  and  coldly 
(she  had  noted  that  expression  of  joy),  "  I  have 
no  appetite;  do  not  wait  for  me."  And  soon 
after  strolled  away  again. 

Hazel  was  dumfounded.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking her  manner ;  it  was  chilly  and  reserved 
all  of  a  sudden.  It  wounded  him  ;  but  he  be- 
haved like  a  man.  "What!  I  keep  her  out 
of  her  own  house,  do  I  ?"  said  he  to  himself. 
He  started  up,  took  a  fish  out  of  the  pot,  wrap- 
ped it  in  a  leaf,  and  stalked  off  to  his  boat. 
Then  he  ate  a  little  of  the  fish,  threw  the  rest 
away,  and  went  down  upon  the  sands,  and  paced 
them  in  a  said  and  bitter  mood. 

But  the  night  calmed  him,  and  some  hours  of 
tranquil  thought  brought  him  fortitude,  patience, 
and  a  clear  understanding.  He  went  to  his 
boat,  elevated  by  generous  and  delicate  resolu- 
tions. Now  worthy  resolves  are  tranquillizing, 
and  he  slept  profoundly. 

Not  so  she,  whose  sudden  but  very  natural 
change  of  demeanor  had  hurt  him.  When  she 
returned  and  found  he  was  gone  for  the  night, 
she  began  to  be  alarmed  at  having  offended  him. 

For  this  and  other  reasons  she  passed  the 
night  in  sore  perplexity,  and  did  not  sleep  till 
morning ;  and  so  she  overslept  her  usual  time. 
However,  when  she  was  up,  she  determined  to 
find  her  own  breakfast ;  she  felt  it  would  not  do 
to  be  too  dependent,  and  on  a  person  of  uncer- 
tain humor ;  such  for  the  moment  she  chose  to 
pretend  to  herself  was  Hazel.  Accordingly  she 
went  down  to  the  sea  to  look  for  crayfish.  She 
found  abundance.  There  they  lay  in  the  water ; 
you  had  but  to  stoop  and  pick  them  up. 

But  alas !  they  were  black,  lively,  viperish  ; 
she  went  with  no  great  relish  for  the  task  to  take 
one  up ;  it  wriggled  maliciously ;  she  dropped 
it,  and  at  that  very  moment,  by  a  curious  coinci- 
dence, remembered  she  was  sick  and  tired  of 
crayfish ;  she  would  breakfast  on  fruits.  She 
crossed  the  sand,  took  off  her  shoes,  and  paddled 
through  the  river,  and,  having  put  on  her  shoes 
again,  was  about  to  walk  up  through  some  rank 
grass  to  the  big  wood,  when  she  heard  a  voice 
behind  her,  and  it  was  Mr.  Hazel.  She  bit  her 
lip  (it  was  broad  daylight  now),  and  prepared 
quietly  to   discourage  this  excessive  assiduitv. 


He  came  up  to  her  panting  a  little,  and,  taking 
off  his  hat,  said,  with  marked  respect,  "I  beg 
your  pardon,  Miss  Kolleston,  but  I  know  you 
hate  reptiles  ;  now  there  are  a  few  snakes  in  that 
long  grass  ;  not  poisonous  ones." 

"  Snakes  !"  cried  Helen  ;  "let  me  get  home  ; 
there — I'll  go  without  my  breakfast." 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not,"  said  Hazel,  ruefully ;  "  why, 
I  have  been  rather  fortunate  this  morning,  and 
it  is  all  ready." 

"That  is  a  different  thing,"  said  Helen,  gra- 
ciously ;  '  •  you  must  not  have  your  trouble  for 
nothing,  I  suppose." 

Directly  after  breakfast,  Hazel  took  his  axe 
and  some  rope  from  the  boat,  and  went  off*  in  a 
great  hurry  to  the  jungle.  In  half  an  hour  or 
so  he  returned,  dragging  a  large  conical  shrub, 
armed  with  spikes  for  leaves,  incredibly  dense 
and  prickly. 

"There,"  said  he,  "there's  a  vegetable  porcu- 
pine for  you.  This  is  your  best  defense  against 
that  roaring  Bugbear." 

"That  little  tree!"  said  Helen;  "the  tiger 
would  soon  jump  over  that." 

"Ay,  but  not  over  this  and  sixty  more;  a 
wall  of  stilettos.     Don't  touch  it  please." 

He  worked  very  hard  all  day,  and  brought 
twelve  of  these  prickly  trees  to  the  bower  by  sun- 
set. He  was  very  dissatisfied  with  his  day's 
work  ;  seemed  quite  mortified. 

"  This  comes  of  beginning  at  the  wrong  end," 
he  said  ;  "  I  went  to  work  like  a  fool.  I  should 
have  begun  by  making  a  cart." 

"But  you  can't  do  that,"  said  Helen  sooth- 
ingly ;  "  no  gentleman  can  make  a  cart." 

"Oh,  surely  any  body  can  make  a  cart,  by  a 
little  thinking,"  said  he. 

"I  wish,"  said  Helen,  listlessly,  "you  would 
think  of  something  for  me  to  do ;  I  begin  to  be 
ashamed  of  not  helping." 

"  Plum  !  you  can  plait  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  seven  strands." 

"  Then  you  need  never  be  unemployed.  We 
want  ropes,  and  shall  want  large  mats  for  the 
rainy  weather." 

He  went  to  the  place  where  he  had  warned 
her  of  the  snakes,  and  cut  a  great  bundle  of  long 
silky  grass,  surprisingly  tough,  yet  neither  harsh 
nor  juicy  ;  he  brought  it  her,  and  said  he  should 
be  very  glad  of  a  hundred  yards  of  light  cord, 
three  ply  and  five  ply. 

She  was  charmed  with  the  grass,  and  the  very 
next  morning  she  came  to  breakfast  with  it  nice- 
ly prepared,  and  a  good  deal  of  cord  made  and 
hanging  round  her  neck.  She  found  some  prep- 
arations for  carpenter's  work  lying  about. 

"  Is  that  great  log  for  the  cart?"  said  she. 

"  Yes  !  it  is  a  section  of  a  sago-tree." 

"  What,  our  sago  ?" 

"The  basis.  See,  in  the  centre  it  is  all  soft- 
pith."  He  got  from  the  boat  one  of  the  augers 
that  had  scuttled  the  Proserpine,  and  soon  turn- 
ed the  pith  out.  "  They  pound  that  pith  in  wa- 
ter, and  run  it  through  linen  ;  then  set  the  water 
in  the  sun  to  evaporate.  The  sediment  is  the 
sago  of  commerce,  and  sad,  insipid  stuff  it  is." 

"  Oh,  please  don't  call  any  thing  names  one 
has  eaten  in  England,"  said  Helen,  sorrow- 
fully. 

After  a  hasty  meal,  she  and  Mr.  Hazel  work- 
ed for  a  wager.  Her  taper  fingers  went  like  the 
wind,  and  though  she  watched  him,  and  asked 


G4 


FOUL  PLAY. 


questions,  she  never  stopped  plaiting.  Mr.  Ha- 
zel was  no  carpenter,  he  was  merely  Brains  spur- 
red by  Necessity.  He  went  to  work  and  sawed 
off  four  short  discs  of  the  sago-log. 

"  Now  what  are  those,  pray  ?"  asked  Helen. 

"The  wheels:  primeval  wheels.  And  here 
arc  the  linchpins,  made  of  hard  wood  ;  I  wattled 
them  at  odd  times.'' 

He  then  produced  two  young  lime-trees  he  had 
rooted  up  that  morning,  and  sawed  them  into 
poles  in  a  minute,  Then  he  bored  two  holes  in 
each  pole,  about  four  inches  from  either  extrem- 
ity, and  fitted  his  linchpins ;  then  he  drew  out 
his  linchpins,  passed  each  pole  first  through  one 
disc,  and  then  through  another,  and  fastened  his 
linchpins.  Then  he  ran  to  the  boat,  and  came 
back  with  the  stern  and  midship  thwarts.  He 
drilled  with  his  centre-bit  three  rows  of  holes  in 
these,  two  inches  from  the  edge  ;  and  now  Helen's 
work  came  in  :  her  grass  rope  bound  the  thwarts 
tight  to  the  horizontal  poles,  leaving  the  discs 
room  to  play  easily  between  the  thwarts  and  the 
linchpins  ;  but  there  was  an  open  space  thirteen 
inches  broad  between  the  thwarts;  this  space 
Hazel  herring-boned  over  with  some  of  Helen's 
rope  drawn  as  tight  as  possible.  The  cart  was 
now  made.  Time  occupied  in  its  production, 
three  hours  and  forty  minutes. 

The  ccachmaker  was  very  hot :  and  Helen 
asked  him  timidly  whether  he  had  not  better 
rest  and  eat.  "No  time  for  that,"  said  he. 
"The  day  is  not  half  long  enough  for  what  I 
have  to  do."  He  drank  copiously  from  the 
stream  ;  put  the  carpenter's  basket  into  the  cart : 
gdt  the  tow-rope  from  the  boat  and  fastened  it  to 
the  cart  in  this  shape  A,  putting  himself  in  the 
centre.  So  now  the  coachmaker  was  the  horse, 
and  off  they  went,  rattling  and  creaking,  to  the 
jungle. 

Helen  turned  her  stool  and  watched  this  pa- 
geant enter  the  jungle.  She  plaited  on,  but  not  so 
merrily.  Hazel's  companionship  and  bustling 
way  somehow  kept  her  spirits  up. 

But  whenever  she  was  left  alone,  she  gazed  on 
the  blank  ocean,  and  her  heart  died  within  her. 
At  last  she  strolled  pensively  towards  the  jun- 
gle, plaiting  busily  as  she  went,  and  hanging  the 
rope  round  her  neck  as  fast  as  she  she  made 
it. 

At  the  edge  of  the  jungle  she  found  Hazel  in 
a  difficulty.  He  had  cut  down  a  wagon-load  of 
prickly  trees,  and  wanted  to  get  all  this  mass  of 
noli  me  tangere  on  to  that  wretched  little  cart, 
but  had  not  rope  enough  to  keep  it  together :  she 
gave  him  plenty  of  new  line,  and  partly  by  fast- 
ening a  small  rope  to  the  big  rope,  and  so  mak- 
ing the  big  rope  a  receptacle,  partly  by  artful  ty- 
ing, they  dragged  home  an  incredible  load.  To 
be  sure,  some  of  it  draggled  half  along  the  ground, 
and  came  after,  like  a  peacock's  tail. 

He  made  six  trips,  and  then  the  sun  was  low ; 
so  he  began  to  build.  He  raised  a  rampart  of 
these  prickly  trees,  a  rampart  three  feet  wide 
and  eight  feet  high  ;  but  it  only  went  round  two 
sides  and  a  half  of  the  bower. "  So  then  he  said 
he  had  failed  again ;  and  lay  down  worn  out  by 
fatigue. 

Helen  Rolleston,  though  dejected  herself,  could 
not  help  pitying  him  for  his  exhaustion  in  her 
service,  and  for  his  bleeding  hands  ;  she  under- 
took the  cooking,  and  urged  him  kindly  to  eat 
of  every  dish:  and,  when  he  rose  to  go,  she  thank- 


ed him  with  as  much  feeling  as  modesty  for  the 
great  pains  he  had  taken  to  lessen  those  fears  of 
hers  which  she  saw  he  did  not  share. 

These  kind  words  more  than  repaid  him.  He 
went  to  his  little  den  in  a  glow  of  spirits  ;  and 
the  next  morning  went  off  in  a  violent  hurry,  and 
for  once  seemed  glad  to  get  away  from  her. 

"Poor  Mr.  Hazel, "said she,  softly,  and  watch- 
ed him  out  of  sight.  Then  she  got  her  plait  and 
went  to  the  high  point  where  he  had  barked  a 
tree ;  and  looked  far  and  wide  for  a  sail.  The 
air  was  wonderfully  clear ;  the  whole  ocean  seem- 
ed in  sight ;  but  all  was  blank. 

A  great  awe  fell  upon  her,  and  sickness  of 
heart ;  and  then  first  she  began  to  fear  she  was 
out  of  the  known  world,  and  might  die  on  that 
island  ;  or  never  be  found  by  the  present  gener- 
ation :  and  this  sickening  fear  lurked  in  her  from 
that  hour,  and  led  to  consequences  that  will  be 
related  shortly. 

She  did  not  return  for  a  long  while,  and,  when 
she  did,  she  found  Hazel  had  completed  her  for- 
tifications. He  invited  her  to  explore  the  west- 
ern part  of  the  island,  but  she  declined. 

"Thank  you,"  said  she;  "  not  to-day  ;  there  is 
something  to  be  done  at  home.  I  have  been 
comparing  my  abode  with  yours,  and  the  con- 
trast makes  me  uncomfortable,  if  it  doesn't  you. 
Oblige  me  by  building  yourself  a  house." 

"  What,  in  an  afternoon  ?" 

"  Why  not  ?  you  made  a  cart  in  a  forenoon. 
How  can  I  tell  your  limits  ?  you  are  quite  out  of 
my  poor  little  depth.  Well,  at  all  events,  you 
must  roof  the  boat,  or  something.  Come,  be 
good  for  once,  and  think  a  little  of  yourself. 
There,  I'll  sit  by  and — what  shall  I  do  whilst  you 
are  working  to  oblige  me  ?" 

"  Make  a  fishing-net  of  cocoa-nut  fibre,  four 
feet  deep.  Here's  plenty  of  material  all  pre- 
pared." 

"Why,  Mr.  Hazel,  you  must  work  in  your 
sleep." 

"  No ;  but  of  course  I  am  not  idle  when  I  am 
alone  ;  and  luckily  I  have  made  a  spade  out  of 
hard  wood  at  odd  hours,  or  all  the  afternoon 
would  go  in  making  that." 

"  A  spade  !  You  are  going  to  dig  a  hole  in 
the  ground  and  call  it  a  house.  That  will  not  do 
for  me." 

"  You  will  see,"  said  Hazel. 

The  boat  lay  in  a  little  triangular  creek;  the 
surrounding  earth  was  alluvial  clay  ;  a  sort  of 
black  cheesy  mould,  stiff,  but  kindly  to  work  with 
the  spade.  Hazel  cut  and  chiselled  it  out  at  a 
grand  rate,  and  throwing  it  to  the  sides,  raised  by 
degrees  two  mud  banks,  one  on  each  side  the 
boat ;  and  at  last  he  dug  so  deep  that  he  was 
enabled  to  draw  the  boat  another  yard  inland. 

As  Helen  sat  by  netting  and  forcing  a  smile 
now  and  then,  though  sad  at  heart,  he  was  on 
his  mettle,  and  the  mud  walls  he  raised  in  four 
hours  were  really  wonderful.  He  squared  their 
inner  sides  with  the  spade.  When  he  had  done, 
the  boat  lay  in  a  hollow,  the  walls  of  which,  half 
natural,  half  artificial,  were  five  feet  above  her 
gunwale,  and,  of  course,  eight  feet  above  her  bot- 
tom, in  which  Hazel  used  to  lie  at  night.  He 
then  made  another  little  wall  at  the  boat's  stern, 
and  laid  palm-branches  over  all,  and  a  few  huge 
banana-leaves  from  the  jungle ;  got  a  dozen 
large  stones  out  of  the  river,  tied  four  yards' 
lengths  of  Helen's  grass-rope  from  stone  to  stone, 


FOUL  PLAY. 


65 


and  so,  passing  the  ropes  over  the  roof,  confined 
it,  otherwise  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  might  lift  it. 

"  There,"  said  he  ;  "ami  not  as  well  off  as 
you? — I,  a  great  tough  man.  Abominable  waste 
of  time,  I  call  it." 

"  Hum  !"  said  Helen,  doubtfully.  All  this  is 
very  clever  ;  but  I  doubt  whether  it  will  keep  out 
much  rain." 

"More  than  yours  will,"  said  Hazel, "  and  that 
is  a  very  serious  thing.  I  am  afraid  you  little 
know  how  serious.  But  to-morrow,  if  you  please, 
I  will  examine  our  resources,  and  lay  our  whole 
situation  before  you,  and  ask  your  advice.  As 
to  your  Bugbear,  let  him  roar  his  heart  out,  his 
reign  is  over.  Will  you  not  come  and  see  your 
wooden  walls  ?" 

He  then  took  Helen  and  showed  her  the  tre- 
mendous nature  of  her  fortification,  and  assured 
her  that  no  beast  of  prey  could  face  it,  nor  even 
smell  at  it,  with  impunity.  And  as  to  the  door, 
here  the  defense  was  double  and  treble ;  but  at- 
tached to  four  grass  cords ;  two  passed  into  the 
abode  round  each  of  the  screw  pine-trees  at  the 
east  side,  and  were  kept  in  their  places  by  pegs 
driven  into  the  trees. 

"When  you  are  up,"  said  Hazel,  "you  pull 
these  four  cords  steadily,  and  your  four  guards 
will  draw  back  right  and  left,  with  all  their  bay- 
onets, and  you  can  come  out." 

Helen  was  very  much  pleased  wich  this  arrange- 
ment, and  did  not  disguise  her  gratitude.  She 
slept  in  peace  and  comfort  that  night.  Hazel, 
too,  profited  by  the  mud  walls  and  leafy  roof  she 
had  compelled  him  to  rear ;  for  this  night  was 
colder,  as  it  happened,  than  any  preceding  night 
since  they  came  ashore.  In  the  morning,  Hazel 
saw  a  green  turtle  on  the  shore,  which  was  un- 
usual at  that  time  of  year.  He  ran  and  turned 
her,  with  some  difficulty  ;  then  brought  down 
his  cart,  cut  off  her  head  with  a  blow,  and,  in  due 
course,  dragged  her  up  the  slope.  She  weighed 
two  hundred  pounds.  He  showed  Miss  Rolleston 
the  enormous  shell,  gave  her  a  lecture  on  turtles, 
and  especially  on  the  four  species  known  to  South 
Sea  navigators, — the  trunk  turtle,  the  logger- 
head, the  green  turtle,  and  the  hawksbill,  from 
which  last,  and  not  from  any  tortoise,  he  assured 
her  came  the  tortoise-shell  of  commerce. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "will  you  not  give  up 
or  suspend  your  Reptile  theory,  and  eat  a  little 
green  turtle,  the  king  of  them  all  ?" 

"  I  think  I  must,  after  all  that,"  said  she ;  and 
rather  relished  it. 

That  morning  he  kept  his  word,  and  laid  their 
case  before  her. 

He  said:  "We  are  here  on  an  island  that 
has  probably  been  seen  and  disregarded  by  a  few 
whalers,  but  is  not  known  to  navigators  nor  down 
on  any  chart.  There  is  a  wide  range  of  vegeta- 
tion, proving  a  delightful  climate  on  the  whole, 
and  one  particularly  suited  toyou,  whose  lungs 
are  delicate.  But  then,  comparing  the  beds  of 
the  rivers  with  the  banks,  a  tremendous  fall  of 
rain  is  indicated.  The  rainy  months  (in  these 
latitudes)  are  at  hand,  and  if  these  rains  catch  us 
in  our  present  condition,  it  will  be  a  calamity. 
You  have  walls,  but  no  roof  to  keep  it  out.  I 
tremble  when  I  think  of  it.  This  is  my  main  anx- 
iety. My  next  is  about  our  sustenance  during 
the  rains  :  we  have  no  stores  under  cover ;  no 
fuel ;  no  provisions  but  a  few  cocoa-nuts.  We 
use  two  lucifer  matches  a  day ;  and  what  is  to 
5 


become  of  us  at  that  rate  ?  In  theory,  fire  can 
be  got  by  rubbing  two  pieces  of  wood  together ; 
Selkirk  is  said  to  have  so  obtained  it  from  pi- 
mento wood  on  Juan  Fernandez  ;  but,  in  fact.  I 
believe  the  art  is  confined  to  savages.  I  never 
met  a  civilized  man  who  could  do  it,  and  I  have 
questioned  scores  of  voyagers.  As  for  my  weap- 
ons, they  consist  of  a  boat-hook  and  an  axe  ;  no 
gun,  no  harpoon,  no  bow,  no  lance.  My  tools 
are  a  blunt  saw,  a  blunter  axe,  a  wooden  spade, 
two  great  augers,  that  I  believe  had  a  hand  in 
bringing  us  here,  but  have  not  been  any  use  to 
us  since,  a  centre-bit,  two  planes,  a  hammer,  a 
pair  of  pincers,  two  brad-awls,  three  gimlets,  two 
scrapers,  a  plumb-lead  and  line,  a  large  pair  of 
scissors,  and  you  have  a  small  pair,  two  gauges, 
a  screw-driver,  five  clasp-knives,  a  few  screws  and 
nails  of  various  sizes,  two  small  barrels,  two  bags, 
two  tin  bowls,  two  wooden  bowls,  and  the  shell 
of  this  turtle,  and  that  is  a  very  good  soup-tureen, 
only  we  have  no  meat  to  make  soup  with." 

"Well  sir,"  said  Miss  Rolleston,  resignedly, 
"  we  can  but  kneel  down  and  die." 

"That  would  be  cutting  the  Gordian  knot  in- 
deed, "said  Hazel.  "What,  die  to  shirk  a  few 
difficulties  ?  No.  I  propose  an  amendment  to 
that.  After  the  words  'kneel  down, 'insert  the 
words,  'and  get  up  again,  trusting  in  that  merci- 
ful Providence  which  has  saved  us  so  far,  but 
expects  us  to  exert  ourselves  too.'  " 

"It  is  good  and  pious  advice,"  said  Helen, 
"  and  let  us  follow  it  this  moment." 

"Now,"  said  Hazel,  "  I  have  three  propositions 
to  lay  before  you.  1st.  That  I  hereby  give  up 
walking  and  take  to  running :  time  is  so  precious. 
2d.  That  we  both  work  by  night  as  well  as  day. 
3d.  That  we  each  tell  the  other  our  principal 
wants,  so  that  there  may  be  four  eyes  on  the  look- 
out, as  we  go,  instead  of  two." 

"I  consent,  "said  Helen;  "pray  what  are  your 
wants  ?" 

"Iron,  oil,  salt,  tar,  a  bellows,  a  pickaxe,  planks, 
thread,  nets,  light  matting  for  roofs,  bricks,  chim- 
ney-pots, jars,  glass,  animal  food,  some  variety  of 
vegetable  food,  and  so  on.  I'll  write  down  the 
entire  list  for  you." 

"You  will  be  puzzled  to  do  that  without  ink 
or  paper." 

"Not  in  the  least.  I  shall  engrave  it  in  alto- 
rilievo,  make  the  words  with  pebbles  on  the  turf 
just  above  high-water  mark.  Now  tell  me  your 
wants." 

"Well,  I  want — impossibilities." 

"Enumerate  them." 

"What  is  the  use?" 

"  It  is  the  method  we  have  agreed  upon." 

"  Oh,  very  well,  then.     I  want — a  sponge." 

"  Good.     What  next  ?" 

"I  have  broken  my  comb." 

"Good." 

"  Pm  glad  you  think  so.  I  want —  Oh,  Mr. 
Hazel,  what  is  the  use  ? — well,  I  should  like  a 
mattress  to  lie  on." 

"  Hair  or  wool  ?" 

' '  I  don't  care  which.  And  it  is  a  shame  to  ask 
you  for  either." 

"  Go  on." 

"I  want  a  looking-glass." 

"  Great  Heaven  !     What  for  ?" 

"Oh,  nevermind:  I  want  one;  andsomemore 
towels,  and  some  soap,  and  a  few  hair-pins  ;  and 


6G 


FOUL  PLAY. 


some  elastic  bands ;  and  some  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
to  write  my  feelings  down  in  this  island  for  no- 
body ever  to  see." 

When  she  began  Hazel  looked  bright,  but  the 
list  was  like  a  wasp,  its  sting  lay  in  its  tail.  Haw- 
ever,  he  put  a  good  face  on  it.  "  I'll  try  and  get 
you  all  those  things :  only  give  me  time.  Do 
you  know  I  am  writing  a  dictionary  on  a  novel 
method." 

"That  means  on  the  sand." 

"No  ;  the  work  is  suspended  for  the  present. 
But  two  of  the  definitions  in  it  are, — Difficul- 
ties,— things  to  be  subdued  ;  Impossibilities, 
— things  to  be  trampled  on." 

"  Well,  subdue  mine.  Trample  on — a  sponge 
for  me." 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  going  to  do," said 
he :  opened  a  clasp-knife  and  jumped  coolly  into 
the  river. 

Helen  screamed  faintly,  but  after  all  the  water 
was  only  up  to  his  knees. 

He  soon  cut  a  large  sponge  off  a  piece  of 
slimy  rock,  and  held  it  up  to  her.  "  There,"  said 
he,  "why,  there  are  a  score  of  them  at  your 
very  door,  and  you  never  saw  them." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me,  I  did  see  them,  and  shud- 
dered ;  I  thought  they  were  reptiles ;  dormant, 
and  biding  their  time." 

When  he  was  out  of  the  river  again,  she 
thought  a  little,  and  asked  him  whether  old  iron 
would  be  of  any  use  to  him. 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  he;  "what,  do  you 
know  of  any?" 

"  I  think  I  saw  some  one  day.  I'll  go  and 
look  for  it." 

She  took  the  way  of  the  shore ;  and  he  got 
his  cart  and  spade,  and  went  post-haste  to  his  j 
clay-pit. 

He  made  a  quantity  of  bricks,  and  brought 
them  home,  and  put  them  to  dry  in  the  sun.     He  ! 
also  cut  great  pieces  of  the  turtle,  and  wrapped 
them  in  fresh  banana-leaves,  and  inclosed  them  j 
in  clay.     He  then  tried  to  make  a  lai'ge  narrow-  , 
necked  vessel,  and  failed  utterly ;  so  he  made 
the  clay  into  a  great  rude  platter  like  a  shal- 
low milk-pan.     Then  he  peeled  the  sago-log, 
off  which  he  had  cut  his  wheels,  and  rubbed 
it  with  turtle-fat,  and  using  it  as  a  form,  pro-  [ 
duced  two  clay  cylinders.     These  he  set  in  the  | 
sun,  with   bricks   round   them    to  keep   them  | 
from  falling.     Leaving  all  these  to  dry  and  set  | 
before  he  baked  them,  he  went  off  to  the  marsh  ! 
for  fern-leaves.     The  soil  being  so  damp,  the 
trees  were  covered  with  a  brownish-red  sub- 
stance, scarce  distinguishable  from  wool.     This 
he   had   counted    on.     But   he  also   found  in 
the  same  neighborhood  a  long  cypress-haired 
moss  that  seemed  to  him  very  promising.     He  j 
made  several  trips,  and  raised  quite  a  stack  of  j 
fern-leaves.     By  this  time  the  sun  had  operated  ; 
on  his  thinner  pottery ;  so  he  laid  down  six  of  j 
his  large  thick  tiles,  and  lighted  a  fire  on  them  j 
of  dry  banana- leaves,  and  cocoa-nut,  etc.,  and 
such  light  combustibles,  until  he  had  heated  and  ; 
hardened  the  clay  ;  then  he  put  the  ashes  on  one  \ 
side,  and  swept  the  clay  clean  ;  then  he  put  the  ; 
fire  on  again,  and  made  it  hotter  and  hotter,  till ' 
the  clay  began  to  redden. 

While  he  was  thus  occupied,  Miss  Rolleston  ! 
came  from  the  jungle  radiant,  carrying  vegetable  j 
treasures  in  her  apron.     First  she  produced  some 
golden  apples  with  reddish  leaves. 


"  There,"  said  she;  "and  they  smell  deli- 
cious." 

Hazel  eyed  them  keenly. 

"  You  have  not  eaten  any  of  them  ?" 

"What!  by  myself ?"  said  Helen. 

"Thank  Heaven!"  said  Hazel,  turning  pale. 
"  These  are  the  manchanilla,  the  poison  apple  of 
the  Pacific." 

"Poison!"  said  Helen,  alarmed  in  her  turn. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  they  are  poison  ;  but 
travellers  give  them  a  very  bad  name.  The  birds 
never  peck  them  ;  and  I  have  read  that  even  the 
leaves  falling  into  still  water  have  killed  the  fish. 
You  will  not  eat  any  thing  here  till  you  have 
shown  it  me,  will  you  ?"  said  he,  imploringly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Helen ;  and  sat  down  with  her 
hand  to  her  heart  a  minute.  "And  I  was  so 
pleased  when  I  found  them,"  she  said ;  "  they 
reminded  me  of  home.  I  wonder  whether  these 
are  poison,  too  ?"  and  she  opened  her  apron  wide, 
and  showed  him  some  long  yellow  pods,  with 
red  specks,  something  like  a  very  large  banana. 

"Ah,  that  is  a  very  different  affair,"  said  Ha- 
zel, delighted;  "these  are  plantains,  and  the 
greatest  find  we  have  made  yet.  The  fruit  is 
meat,  the  wood  is  thread,  and  the  leaf  is  shelter 
and  clothes.  The  fruit  is  good  raw,  and  better 
baked,  as  you  shall  see,  and  I  believe  this  is  the 
first  time  the  dinner  and  the  dish  were  both  baked 
together." 

He  cleared  the  now  heated  hearth,  put  the 
meat  and  fruit  on  it,  then  placed  his  great  plat- 
ter over  it,  and  heaped  fire  round  the  platter, 
and  light  combustibles  over  it.  Whilst  this  was 
going  on,  Helen  took  him  to  her  bower,  and 
showed  him  three  rusty  iron  hoops,  and  a  piece 
of  rotten  wood  with  a  rusty  nail,  and  the  marks 
where  others  had  been.  "There,"  said  she; 
"  that  is  all  I  could  find." 

"Why,  it  is  a  treasure,"  cried  he;  "you  will 
see.     I  have  found  something,  too." 

He  then  showed  her  the  vegetable  wool  and 
vegetable  hair  he  had  collected,  and  told  her 
where  they  grew.  She  owned  they  were  won- 
derful imitations,  and  would  do  as  well  as  the  real 
things ;  and,  ere  they  had  done  comparing  notes, 
the  platter  and  the  dinner  under  it  were  both 
baked.  Hazel  removed  the  platter  or  milk-pan, 
and  served  the  dinner  in  it. 

If  Hazel  was  inventive,  Helen  was  skillful  and 
quick  at  any  kind  of  woman's  work;  and  the 
following  is  the  result  of  the  three  weeks'  work  ; 
under  his  direction.   She  had  made  as  follows : — 

1.  Thick  mattress,  stuffed  with  the  vegetable 
hair  and  wool  described  above.  The  mattress 
was  only  two  feet  six  inches  wide ;  for  Helen 
found  that  she  never  turned  in  bed  now.  She 
slept  as  she  had  never  slept  before.  This  mattress 
was  made  with  plantain-leaves  sewed  together 
with  the  thread  furnished  by  the  tree  itself,  and 
doubled  at  the  edges. 

2.  A  long  shallow  net  four  feet  deep, — cocoa 
fibre. 

3.  A  great  quantity  of  stout  grass-rope,  and 
light  but  close  matting  for  the  roof,  and  some 
cocoa-nut  matting  for  the  ground,  and  to  po  un- 
der the  mattress.  But  Hazel,  instructed  by  her, 
had  learned  to  plait, — rather  clumsily, — and  he 
had  a  hand  in  the  matting. 

Hazel  in  the  mean  time  heightened  his  own 
rnud- banks  in  the  centre,  and  set  up  brick  fire- 
places with  hearth  and  chimney,  one  on  each 


FOUL  PLAY. 


67 


side  ;  and  now  did  all  the  cooking ;  for  he  found 
the  smoke  from  wood  made  Miss  Rolleston  cough. 
He  also  made  a  number  of  pigeon-holes  in  his 
mud  walls  and  lined  them  with  clay.  One  of 
these  he  dried  with  fire,  and  made  a  pottery 
door  to  it,  and  there  kept  the  lucifer-box.  He 
made  a  vast  number  of  bricks,  but  did  nothing 
with  them.  After  several  failures  he  made  two 
lagre  pots,  and  two  great  pans,  that  would  all 
four  bear  fire  under  them,  and  in  the  pans  he 
boiled  sea-water  till  it  all  evaporated  and  left 
him  a  sediment  of  salt.  This  was  a  great  addi- 
tion to  their  food,  and  he  managed  also  to  put 
by  a  little.     But  it  was  a  slow  process. 

He  made  a  huge  pair  of  bellows,  with  a  little 
assistance  from  Miss  Rolleston ;  the  spout  was  a 
sago  stick,  with  the  pith  driven  out,  and  the  sub- 
stitute for  leather  was  the  skin  of  a  huge  eel  he 
found  stranded  at  the  east  point. 

Having  got  his  bellows  and  fixed  them  to  a 
post  he  drove  into  the  ground,  he  took  for  his 
anvil  a  huge  flint  stone,  and  a  smaller  one  for 
hammer:  heated  his  old  iron  to  a  white  heat, 
and  hammered  it  with  a  world  of  trouble  into 
straight  lengths  ;  and  at  last  with  a  portion  of  it 
produced  a  long  saw  without  teeth,  but  one  side 
sharper  than  the  other.  This  by  repeated  ex- 
periments of  heating  and  immersing  in  water, 
he  at  last  annealed  ;  and  when  he  wanted  to 
saw,  he  blew  his  embers  to  a  white  heat  (he  kept 
the  fire  alive  now  night  and  day),  heated  his 
original  saw  red-hot,  and  soon  sawed  through  the 
oleaginous  woods  of  that  island.  If  he  wanted 
to  cut  down  a  tree  in  the  jungle,  he  put  the  bel- 
lows and  a  pot  of  embers  on  his  cart  with  other 
fuel,  and  came  and  lighted  the  fire  under  the 
tree  and  soon  had  it  down.  He  made  his  pick- 
axe in  half  an  hour,  but  with  his  eyes  rather 
than  his  hands.  He  found  a  young  tree  grow- 
ing on  the  rock,  or  at  least  on  soil  so  shallow 
that  the  root  was  half  above  ground  and  at 
right  angles  to  the  stem.  He  got  this  tree  up, 
shortened  the  stem,  shaped  the  root,  shod  the 
point  with  some  of  his  late  old  iron ;  and  with 
this  primitive  tool,  and  a  thick  stake  baked  at 
the  point,  he  opened  the  ground  to  receive  twelve 
stout  uprights,  and  he  drove  them  with  a  tre- 
mendous mallet  made  upon  what  might  be  call- 
ed the  compendious  or  Hazelian  method  ;  it  was 
a  section  of  a  hard  tree  with  a  thick  shoot  grow- 
ing out  of  it,  which  shoot,  being  shortened,  served 
for  the  handle.  By  these,  arts  he  at  last  saw  a 
goal  to  his  labors.  Animal  food,  oil,  pitch,  ink, 
paper,  were  still  wanting ;  but  fish  were  abun- 
dant, and  plantains  and  cocoa-nuts  stored.  Above 
all,  Helen's  hut  was  now  weather-tight.  Stout 
horizontal  bars  were  let  into  the  trees,  and 
being  bound  to  the  uprights,  they  mutually  sup- 
ported each  other ;  smaller  horizontal  bars  at 
intervals  kept  the  prickly  ramparts  from  being 
driven  in  by  a  sudden  gust.  The  canvas  walls 
were  removed,  and  the  nails  stored  in  a  pigeon- 
hole, and  a  stout  network  substituted,  to  which 
huge  plantain-leaves  were  cunningly  fastened 
with  plantain-thread.  The  roof  was  double : 
first,  that  extraordinary  mass  of  spiked  leaves 
which  the  four  trees  threw  out,  then  several  feet 
under  that  the  huge  piece  of  matting  the  pair 
had  made.  This  was  strengthened  by  double 
strips  of  canvas  at  the  edges  and  in  the  centre, 
and  by  single  strips  in  other  parts.  A  great 
many  cords  and  strings  made  of  that  wonderful 


grass  were  sewn  to  the  canvas-strengthened 
edges,  and  so  it  was  fastened  to  the  trees,  and 
fastened  to  the  horizontal  bars. 

When  this  work  drew  close  to  its  completion, 
Hazel  could  not  disguise  his  satisfaction. 

But  he  very  soon  had  the  mortification  of  see- 
ing that  she  for  whom  it  was  all  done  did  not 
share  his  complacency. 

A  change  took  place  in  her  ;  she  often  let  her 
work  fall,  and  brooded.  She  spoke  sometimes 
sharply  to  Mr.  Hazel,  and  sometimes  with  strain- 
ed civility.  She  wandered  away  from  him,  and 
from  his  labors  for  her  comfort,  and  passed  hours 
at  Telegraph  Point,  eying  the  illimitable  ocean. 
She  was  a  riddle.  All  sweetness  at  times,  but  at 
others  irritable,  moody,  and  scarce  mistress  of 
herself.  Hazel  was  sorry  and  perplexed,  and 
often  expressed  a  fear  she  was  ill.  The  answer 
was  always  in  the  negative.  He  did  not  press 
her,  but  worked  on  for  her,  hoping  the  mood 
would  pass.  And  so  it  would,  no  doubt,  if  the 
cause  had  not  remained. 

Matters  were  still  in  this  uncomfortable  and 
mysterious  state  when  Hazel  put  his  finishing 
stroke  to  her  abode. 

He  was  in  high  spirits  that  evening :  for  he 
had  made  a  discovery  ;  he  had  at  last  found 
time  for  a  walk,  and  followed  the  river  to  its 
source,  a  very  remarkable  lake  in  a  hilly  basin. 
Near  this  was  a  pond,  the  water  of  which  he  had 
tasted  and  found  it  highly  bituminous:  and,  mak- 
ing further  researches,  he  had  found  at  the  bot- 
tom of  a  rocky  ravine  a  very  wonderful  thing — a 
dark  resinous  fluid  bubbling  up  in  quite  a  fount- 
ain, which,  however,  fell  down  again  as  it  rose,  and 
hardly  any  overflowed.    It  was  like  a  thin  pitch. 

Of  course,  in  another  hour  he  was  back  there 
with  a  great  pot,  and  half  filled  it.  It  was  not 
like  water  :  it  did  not  bubble  so  high  when  some 
had  been  taken :  so  he  just  took  what  he  could 
get.  Pursuing  his  researches  a  little  farther  he 
found  a  range  of  rocks  with  snowy  summits  ap- 
parently ;  but  the  snow  was  the  guano  of  cen- 
turies. *  He  got  to  the  western  extremity  of  the 
island,  saw  another  deep  bay  or  rather  branch 
of  the  sea,  and  on  the  other  side  of  it  a  tongue 
of  high  land  running  out  to  sea:  on  that  prom- 
ontory stood  a  gigantic  palm-tree.  He  recog- 
nized that  with  a  certain  thrill,  but  was  in  a 
great  hurry  to  get  home  with  his  pot  of  pitch  ; 
for  it  was  in  truth  a  very  remarkable  discovery, 
though  not  without  a  parallel.  He  could  not 
wait  till  morning,  so  with  embers  and  cocoa-nut 
he  made  a  fire  in  the  bower,  and  melted  his  pitch 
which  had  become  nearly  solid,  and  proceeded  to 
smear  the  inside  of  the  matting  in  places  to 
make  it  thoroughly  water-tight. 

Helen  treated  the  discovery  at  first  with  mor- 
tifying indifference  :  but  he  hoped  she  would  ap- 
preciate Nature's  bounty  more  when  she  saw  the 
practical  use  of  this  extraordinary  production. 
He  endeavored  to  lead  her  to  that  view.  She 
shook  her  head  sorrowfully.  He  persisted.  She 
met  him  with  silence.  He  thought  this  peevish, 
and  ungrateful  to  Heaven  ;  we  have  all  different 
measures  of  the  wonderful :  and  to  him  a  fount- 
ain of  pitch  was  a  thing  to  admire  greatly  and 
thank  God  for  ;  he  said  as  much. 

To  Helen  it  was  nasty  stuff,  and  who  cares 
where  it  came  from?  She  conveyed  as  much 
by  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  then  gave  a 
6igh  that  told  her  mind  was  far  away. 


68 


FOUL  PLAY. 


He  was  a  little  mortified,  and  showed  it. 

One  word  led  to  another,  and  at  last  what  had 
been  long  fermenting  came  out. 

"Mr.  Hazel,"  said  she,  "you  and  I  are  at 
cross  purposes.  You  mean  to  live  here.  I  do  not." 

Hazel  left  off  working  and  looked  greatly  per- 
plexed, the  attack  was  so  sudden  in  its  form, 
though  it  had  been  a  long  time  threatening. 
He  found  nothing  to  say,  and  she  was  impatient 
now  to  speak  her  mind,  so  she  replied  to  his  look. 

"You  are  making  yourself  at  home  here.  You 
are  contented.  Contented  ?  You  are  happy  in 
this  horrible  prison." 

"  And  why  not  ?"  said  Hazel.  And  he  looked 
rather  guilty.  "  Here  are  no  traitors ;  no  mur- 
derers. The  animals  are  my  friends,  and  the 
one  human  being  I  see  makes  me  better  to  look 
at  her." 

"Mr.  Hazel,  I  am  in  a  state  of  mind  that  ro- 
mantic nonsense  jars  on  me.  B  honest  with 
me,  and  talk  to  me  like  a  man.  I  say  that  you 
beam  all  over  with  happiness  and  content,  and 
that  you —  Now  answer  me  one  question  ;  why 
have  vou  never  lighted  the  bonfire  on  Telegraph 
Point?" 

"Indeed  I  don't  know,"  said  he,  submissive- 
ly.    "  I  have  been  so  occupied." 

"You  have  :  and  how?  Not  in  trying  to  de- 
liver us  both  from  this  dreadful  situation,  but  to 
reconcile  me  to  it.  Yes,  sir,  under  pretense  (that 
is  a  harsh  word,  but  I  can't  help  it)  of  keeping 
out  the  rain.  Your  rain  is  a  bugbear ;  it  never 
rains,  it  never  will  rain.  You  are  killing  your- 
self almost  to  make  me  comfortable  in  this  place. 
Comfortable?"  She  began  to  tremble  all  over 
with  excitement  long  restrained.  ' '  And  do  you 
really  suppose  you  can  make  me  live  on  like  this, 
by  building  me  a  nice  hut.  Do  you  think  I  am 
all  body  and  no  soul,  that  shelter  and  warmth  and 
enough  to  eat  can  keep  my  heart  from  breaking, 
and  my  cheeks  from  blushing  night  and  day? 
When  I  wake  in  the  morning  I  find  myself  blush- 
ing to  my  fingers'  ends."  Then  she  walked 
away  from  him.  Then  she  walked  back.  "  Oh, 
my  dear  father,  why  did  I  ever  leave  you  !  Keep 
me  here  ?  Make  me  live  months  and  years  on 
this  island  ?  Have  you  sisters  ?  Have  you  a 
mother  ?  Ask  yourself,  is  it  likely  ?  No  ;  if 
yon  will  not  help  me,  and  they  don't  love  me 
enough  to  come  and  find  me  and  take  me  home, 
I'll  go  to  another  home  without  your  help  or  any 
man's."  Then  she  rose  suddenly  to  her  feet. 
"I'll  tie  my  clothes  tight  round  me,  and  fling 
myself  down  from  that  point  on  to  the  sharp  rocks 
below.  I'll  find  a  way  from  this  place  to  heaven, 
if  there's  no  way  from  it  to  those  I  love  on  earth." 

Then  she  sank  down  and  rocked  herself  and 
sobbed  hard. 

The  strong  passion  of  this  hitherto  gentle  crea- 
ture quite  frightened  her  unhappy  friend,  who 
knew  more  of  books  than  women.  He  longed 
to  soothe  her  and  comfort  her  ;  but  what  could 
he  say?  He  cried  out  in  despair,  "My  God, 
can  I  do  nothing  for  her  ?" 

She  turned  on  him  like  lightning.  *  <  You  can 
do  any  thing  :  every  thing.  You  can  restore  us 
both  to  our  friends.  You  can  save  my  life,  my 
reason.  For  that  will  go  first,  I  think.  What 
kadi  done?  What  had  I  eve?'  done  since  I  was 
born,  to  be  so  brought  down  ?  Was  ever  an 
English  lady  —  ?  And  then  I  have  such  an  ir- 
ritation on  my  skin,  all  over  me.     I  sometimes 


wish  the  tiger  would  come  and  tear  me  all  to 
pieces  ;  yes,  all  to  pieces."  And  with  that  her 
white  teeth  clicked  together  convulsively.  "Do  ?" 
said  she,  darting  back  to  the  point  as  swiftly 
as  she  had  rushed  away  from  it.  "  Why,  put 
down  that  nasty  stuff;  and  leave  off  inventing 
fifty  little  trumpery  things  for  me,  and  do  one 
great  thing  instead.  Oh,  do  not  fritter  that 
great  mind  of  yours  away  in  painting  and  patch- 
ing my  prison ;  but  bring  it  all  to  bear  on  get- 
ting me  out  of  my  prison.  Call  sea  and  land  to 
our  rescue.  Let  them  know  a  poor  girl  is  here 
in  unheard-of,  unfathomable  misery :  here,  in 
the  middle  of  this  awful  ocean." 

Hazel  sighed  deeply.  "  No  ships  seem  to  pass 
within  sight  of  us,"  he  muttered. 

"What  does  that  matter  to  you?  You  are 
not  a  common  man ;  you  are  an  inventor. 
Eouse  all  the  powers  of  your  mind.  There  must 
be  some  way.  Think  for  me.  Think  !  think  ! 
or  my  blood  will  be  on  your  head." 

Hazel  turned  pale  and  put  his  head  in  his 
hands,  and  tried  to  think. 

She  leaned  towards  him  with  great  flashing 
eyes  of  purest  hazel. 

The  problem  dropped  from  his  lips  a  syllable 
at  a  time.  "To  diffuse — intelligence — a  hun- 
dred leagues  from  a  fixed  point — an  island  ?" 

She  leaned  towards  him  with  flashing  ex- 
pectant eyes. 

But  he  groaned,  and  said  :  "That  seems  im- 
possible." 

"  Then  trample  on  it,"  said  she,  bringing  his 
own  words  against  him  ;  for  she  used  to  remem- 
ber all  he  said  to  her  in  the  day,  and  ponder  it 
at  night — "trample  on  it,  subdue  it,  or  never 
speak  to  me  again.  Ah,  I  am  an  ungrateful 
wretch  to  speak  so  harshly  to  you.  It  is  my 
misery,  not  me.  Good,  kind  Mr.  Hazel,  oh,  pray, 
pray,  pray  bring  all  the  powers  of  that  great 
mind  to  bear  on  this  one  thing,  and  save  a  poor 
girl,  to  whom  you  have  been  so  kind,  so  consid- 
erate, so  noble,  so  delicate,  so  forbearing  ;  now 
save  me  from  despair." 

Hysterical  sobs  cut  her  short  here,  and  Haze], 
whose  loving  heart  she  had  almost  torn  out  of 
his  body,  could  only  falter  out  in  a  broken  voice, 
that  he  would  obey  her.  "I'll  work  no  more 
for  you  at  present,"  said  he,  "sweet  as  it  has 
been.  I  will  think  instead.  I  will  go  this  mo- 
ment beneath  the  stars  and  think  all  night." 

The  young  woman  was  now  leaning  her  head 
languidly  back  against  one  of  the  trees,  weak  as 
water  after  her  passion.  He  cast  a  look  of  in- 
effable love  and  pity  on  her,  and  withdrew  slowly 
to  think  beneath  the  tranquil  stars. 

Love  has  set  men  hard  tasks  in  his  time. 
Whether  this  was  a  light  one,  our  reader  shall 
decide. 

To  DIFFUSE  INTELLIGENCE  FROM  A  FIXED 
ISLAND  OVER  A  HUNDRED  LEAGUES  OF  OCEAN. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

The  perplexity  into  which  Hazel  was  thrown 
by  the  outburst  of  his  companion  rendered  him 
unable  to  reduce  her  demand  at  once  to  an  in- 
telligible form.  For  some  moments  he  seriously 
employed  his  mind  on  the  problem  until  it  as- 
sumed this  shape. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


GO 


Firstly  :  I  do  not  know  where  this  island  is, 
having  no  means  of  ascertaining  either  its  lati- 
tude or  longitude. 

Secondly :  If  I  had  such  a  description  of  its 
locality,  how  might  the  news  be  conveyed  be- 
yond the  limits  of  the  place  ? 

As  the  wildness  of  Helen's  demand  broke  upon 
his  mind,  he  smiled  sadly,  and  sat  down  upon  the 
bank  of  the  little  river,  near  his  boat-house,  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  A  deep  groan 
burst  from  him,  and  the  tears  at  last  came  through 
his  fingers,  as  in  despair  he  thought  how  vain 
must  be  any  effort  to  content  or  to  conciliate  her. 
Impatient  with  his  own  weakness  he  started  to 
his  feet,  when  a  hand  was  laid  gently  upon  his 
arm.     She  stood  beside  him. 

"  Mr.  Hazel,"  she  said,  hurriedly — her  voice 
was  husky — "  do  not  mind  what  I  have  said.  I 
am  unreasonable  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  ought  to  feel 
obliged  to  you  for  all  the — " 

Hazel  turned  his  face  towards  her,  and  the 
moon  glistened  on  the  tears  that  still  flowed 
down  his  cheeks.  He  tried  to  check  the  utter- 
ance of  her  apology  ;  but,  ere  he  could  master 
his  voice,  the  girl's  cold  and  constrained  features 
seemed  to  melt.  She  turned  away,  wrung  her 
hands,  and,  with  a  sharp  quivering  cry,  she  broke 
forth, 

"Oh, sir!  oh, Mr.  Hazel!  do  forgive  me.  lam 
not  ungrateful,  indeed,  indeed,  I  am  not;  but  I 
am  mad  with  despair.  Judge  me  with  compas- 
sion. At  this  moment,  those  who  are  very,  very 
dear  to  me  are  awaiting  my  arrival  in  London  ; 
and,  when  they  learn  the  loss  of  the  Proserpine, 
how  great  will  be  their  misery !  Well,  that  mis- 
ery is  added  to  mine.  Then  my  poor  papa  :  he 
will  never  know  how  much  he  loved  me  until 
this  news  reaches  him.  And  to  think  that  I  am 
dead  to  them,  yet  living  !  living. here  helplessly, 
helplessly.  Dear,  dear  Arthur,  how  you  will 
suffer  for  my  sake  !  Oh,  papa,  papa  !  shall  I  nev- 
er see  you  again?"  and  she  wept  bitterly. 

"  lam  helpless  either  to  aid  or  to  console  you, 
Miss  Rolleston.  By  the  act  of  a  Divine  Provi- 
dence you  were  cast  upon  this  desolate  shore, 
and  by  the  same  Will  I  was  appointed  to  serve 
and  to  provide  for  your  welfare.  I  pray  God 
that  he  will  give  me  health  and  strength  to  as- 
sist you.     Good-night." 

She  looked  timidly  at  him  for  a  moment,  then 
slowly  regained  her  hut.  He  had  spoken  coldly, 
and  with  dignity.  She  felt  humbled,  the  more 
so  that  he  had  only  bowed  his  acknowledgment 
to  her  apology. 

For  more  than  an  hour  she  watched  him,  as  he 
paced  up  and  down  between  the  boat-house  and 
the  shore ;  then  he  advanced  a  little  towards  her 
shelter,  and  she  shrank  into  her  bed,  after  gently 
closing  the  door.  In  a  few  moments  she  crept 
again  to  peep  forth,  and  to  see  if  he  were  still 
there,  but  he  had  disappeared. 

The  following  morning  Helen  was  surprised 
to  see  the  boat  riding  at  anchor  in  the  surf,  and 
Hazel  busily  engaged  on  her  trim.  He  was 
soon  on  shore,  and  by  her  side. 

"I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  you  for  a  day, 
Miss  Rolleston,"  he  said.  "I  wish  to  make  "a 
circuit  of  the  island  ;  indeed  I  ought  to  have 
done  so  many  days  ago." 

"Is  such  an  expedition  necessary?  Surely 
you  have  had  enough  of  the  sea." 

"It  is  very  necessary.     You  have  urged  me 


to  undertake  this  enterprise.  You  see,  it  is  the 
first  step  towards  announcing  to  all  passing  ves- 
sels our  presence  in  this  place.  I  have  com- 
menced operations  already.  See,  on  yonder 
bluff,  which  I  have  called  Telegraph  Point,  I 
have  mounted  the  boat's  ensign,  and  now  it 
floats  from  the  top  of  the  tree  beside  the  bonfire. 
I  carried  it  there  at  sunrise.  Do  you  see  that 
pole  I  have  shipped  on  board  the  boat  ?  That  is 
intended  as  a  signal,  which  shall  be  exhibited 
on  your  great  palm-tree.  The  flag  will  then 
stand  for  a  signal  on  the  northern  coast,  and  the 
palm-tree,  thus  accoutred,  will  serve  for  a  simi- 
lar purpose  on  the  western  extremity  of  the  isl- 
and. As  I  pass  along  the  southern  and  eastern 
shores,  I  propose  to  select  spots  where  some  mark 
can  be  erected,  such  as  may  be  visible  to  ships 
at  sea." 

"  But  will  they  remark  such  signals  ?" 

"Be  assured  they  will,  if  they  come  within 
sight  of  the  place." 

Hazel  knew  that  there  was  little  chance  of 
such  an  event ;  but  it  was  something  not  to  be 
neglected.  He  also  explained  that  it  was  neces- 
sary he  should  arrive  at  a  knowledge  of  the  isl- 
and, the  character  of  its  shores ;  and  from  the 
sea  he  could  rapidly  obtain  a  plan  of  the  place, 
ascertain  what  small  rivers  there  might  be,  and, 
indeed,  see  much  of  its  interior;  for  he  judged 
it  to  be  not  more  than  ten  miles  in  length,  and 
scarce  three  in  width. 

Helen  felt  rather  disappointed  that  no  trace  of 
the  emotion  he  displayed  on  the  previous  night 
remained  in  his  manner,  or  in  the  expression  of 
his  face.  She  bowed  her  permission  to  him 
rather  haughtily,  and  sat  down  to  breakfast  on 
i  some  baked  yams,  and  some  rough  oysters,  which 
he  had  raked  up  from  the  bay  while  bathing  that 
morning.  The  young  man  had  regained  an  elas- 
ticity of  bearing,  an  independence  of  tone,  to 
which  she  was  not  at  all  accustomed ;  his  man- 
ners were  always  soft  and  deferential ;  but  his 
expression  was  more  firm,  and  she  felt  that  the 
reins  had  been  gently  removed  from  her  posses- 
sion, and  there  was  a  will  to  guide  her  which  she 
was  bound  to  acknowledge  and  obey. 

She  did  not  argue  in  this  wise,  for  it  is  not 
human  to  reason  and  to  feel  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. She  felt  then  instinctively  that  the  man 
was  quietly  asserting  his  superiority,  and  the 
child  pouted. 

Hazel  went  about  his  work  briskly ;  the  boat 
was  soon  laden  with  every  requisite.  Helen 
watched  these  preparations  askance,  vexed  with 
the  expedition  which  she  had  urged  him  to 
make.  Then  she  fell  to  reflecting  on  the  change 
that  seemed  to  have  taken  place  in  her  charac- 
ter ;  she,  who  was  once  so  womanly,  so  firm,  so 
reasonable, — why  had  she  become  so  petulant, 
childish,  and  capricious  ? 

The  sail  was  set,  and  all  ready  to  run  the  cut- 
ter into  the  surf  of  the  rising  tide,  when,  taking 
a  sudden  resolution,  as  it  were,  Helen  came 
rapidly  down,  and  said,  "I  will  go  with  you,  if 
you  please,"  half  in  command  and  half  in  doubt. 
Hazel  looked  a  little  surprised,  but  very  pleased  ; 
and  then  she  added,  "I  hope  I  shall  not  be  in 
your  way." 

He  assured  her,  on  the  contrary,  that  she 
might  be  of  great  assistance  to  him ;  and  now 
with  doubled  alacrity  he  ran  out  the  little  vessel 
and  leaped  into  the  prow  as  she  danced  over  the 


70 


FOUL  PLAY. 


waves.  He  taught  her  how  to  hring  the  boat's 
head  round  with  the  help  of  an  oar,  and,  when 
all  was  snug,  left  her  at  the  helm.  On  reach- 
ing the  mouth  of  the  bay,  if  it  could  so  be  call- 
ed, he  made  her  remark  that  it  was  closed  by 
reefs,  except  to  the  north  and  to  the  west.  The 
wind  being  southerly,  he  had  decided  to  pass  to 
the  west,  and  so  they  opened  the  sea  about  half 
a  mile  from  the  shore. 

For  about  three  miles  they  perceived  it  con- 
sisted of  a  line  of  bluffs,  cleft  at  intervals  by 
small  narrow  bays,  the  precipitous  sides  of  which 
were  lined  with  dense  foliage.  Into  these  fis- 
sures the  sea  entered  with  a  mournful  sound, 
that  died  away  as  it  crept  up  the  yellow  sands 
with  which  these  nooks  were  carpeted.  An  ex- 
clamation from  Helen  attracted  his  attention  to 
the  horizon  on  the  north-west,  where  a  long  line 
of  breakers  glittered  in  the  sun.  A  reef  or  low 
sandy  bay  appeared  to  exist  in  that  direction, 
about  fifteen  miles  away,  and  something  more 
than  a  mile  in  length.  As  they  proceeded,  he 
marked  roughly  on  the  side  of  his  tin  baler, 
with  the  point  of  a  pin  borrowed  from  Helen, 
the  form  of  the  coast-line. 

An  hour  and  a  half  brought  them  to  the  north- 
western extremity  of  the  island.  As  they  clear- 
ed the  shelter  of  the  land,  the  southerly  breeze 
coming  with  some  force  across  the  open  sea 
caught  the  cutter,  and  she  lay  over  in  a  way  to 
inspire  Helen  with  alarm ;  she  was  about  to  let 
go  the  tiller,  when  Hazel  seized  it,  accidentally 
inclosing  her  hand  under  the  grasp  of  his  own, 
as  he  pressed  the  tiller  hard  to  port. 

"  Steady,  please  ;  don't  relinquish  your  hold ; 
it  is  all  right, — no  fear,"  he  cried,  as  he  kept  his 
eye  on  their  sail. 

He  held  this  course  for  a  mile  or  more,  and 
then,  judging  with  a  long  tack  he  could  weath- 
er the  southerly  side  of  the  island,  he  put  the 
boat  about.  He  took  occasion  to  explain  to 
Helen  how  this  operation  was  necessary,  and  she 
learned  the  alphabet  of  navigation.  The  west- 
ern end  of  their  little  land  now  lay  before  them ; 
it  was  about  three  miles  in  breadth.  For  two 
miles  the  bluff  coast-line  continued  unbroken  ; 
then  a  deep  bay,  a  mile  in  width  and  two  miles 
in  depth,  was  made  by  a  long  tongue  of  sand 
projecting  westerly;  on  its  extremity  grew  the 
gigantic  palm,  well  recognized  as  Helen's  land- 
mark. Hazel  stood  up  in  the  boat  to  reconnoi- 
tre the  coast.  He  perceived  the  sandy  shore 
was  dotted  with  multitudes  of  dark  objects. 
Ere  long,  these  objects  were  seen  to  be  in  mo- 
tion, and  pointing  them  out  to  Helen,  with  a 
smile,  he  said, — 

"Beware,  Miss  Rolleston,  yonder  are  your 
bugbears,— and  in  some  force/too.  Those  dark 
masses,  moving  upon  the  hillocks  of  sand,  or 
rolling  on  the  surf,  are  sea-lions, — the  phoca 
leonina,  or  lion-seal." 

Helen  strained  her  eyes  to  distinguish  the 
forms,  but  only  descried  the  dingy  objects. 
While  thus  engaged,  she  allowed  the  cutter  to 
fall  off  a  little,  and,  ere  Hazel  had  resumed  his 
hold  upon  the  tiller,  they  were  fairly  in  the  bay ; 
the  great  palm-tree  on  their  starboard-bow. 

"You  seem  determined  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  your  nightmares,"  he  remarked ;  "  you 
perceive  that  we  are  embayed." 

Her  consternation  amused  him  ;  she  saw  that, 
if  they  held  their  present  course,  the  cutter  would 


take  the  beach  about  a  mile  ahead,  where  these 
animals  were  densely  crowded. 

At  this  moment,  something  dark  bulged  up 
close  beside  her  in  the  sea,  and  the  rounded 
back  of  a  monster  rolled  over  and  disappeared. 
Hazel  let  drop  the  sail,  for  they  were  now  fairly 
in  the  smooth  water  of  the  bay,  and  close  to  the 
sandy  spit;  the  gigantic  stem  of  the  palm-tree 
was  on  their  quarter,  about  half  a  mile  off. 

He  took  to  the  oars,  and  rowed  slowly  towards 
the  shore.  A  small  seal  rose  behind  the  boat 
and  followed  them,  playing  with  the  blade,  its 
gambols  resembling  that  of  a  kitten.  He  point- 
ed out  to  Helen  the  mild  expression  of  the  crea- 
ture's face,  and  assured  her  that  all  this  tribe 
were  harmless  animals,  and  susceptible  of  do- 
mestication. The  cub  swam  up  to  the  boat  quite 
fearlessly,  and  he  touched  its  head  gently ;  he 
encouraged  her  to  do  the  like,  but  she  shrank 
from  its  contact.  They  were  now  close  ashore, 
and  Hazel,  throwing  out  his  anchor  in  two  feet 
of  water,  prepared  to  land  the  beam  of  wood  he 
had  brought  to  decorate  the  palm-trees  as  a 
signal. 

The  huge  stick  was  soon  heaved  overboard, 
and  he  leaped  after  it.  He  towed  it  to  the 
nearest  landing  to  the  tree,  and  dragged  it  high 
up  on  shore.  Scarcely  had  he  disposed  it  con- 
veniently, intending  to  return  in  a  day  or  two, 
with  the  means  of  affixing  it  in  a  prominent 
and  remarkable  manner,  in  the  form  of  a  spar 
across  the  trunk  of  the  palm,  when  a  cry  from 
Helen  recalled  him.  A  large  number  of  the 
sea-lions  were  coasting  quietly  down  the  surf  to- 
wards the  boat ;  indeed,  a  dozen  of  them  had 
made  their  appearance  around  it. 

Hazel  shouted  to  her  not  to  fear,  and,  desir- 
ing that  her  alarm  should  not  spread  to  the 
swarm,  he  passed  back  quietly  but  rapidly. 
When  he  reached  the  water,  three  or  four  of  the 
animals  were  already  floundering  between  him 
and  the  boat.  He  waded  slowly  towards  one  of 
them,  and  stood  beside  it.  The  man  and  the 
creature  looked  quietly  at  each  other,  and  then 
the  seal  rolled  over,  with  a  snuffling,  self-satis- 
fied air,  winking  its  soft  eyes  with  immense  com- 
placency. Helen,  in  her  alarm,  could  not  re- 
sist a  smile  at  this  conclusion  of  so  terrible  a 
demonstration ;  for,  with  all  their  gentle  ex- 
pression, the  tusks  of  the  brute  looked  formida- 
ble. But  when  she  saw  Hazel  pushing  them 
aside,  and  patting  a  very  small  cub  on  the  back, 
she  recovered  her  courage  completely. 

Then  he  took  to  his  oars  again  ;  and,  aided 
by  the  tide,  which  was  now  on  the  ebb,  he  row- 
ed round  the  south-western  extremity  of  the 
island.  He  found  the  water  here,  as  he  an- 
ticipated, very  shallow. 

It  was  midday  when  they  were  fairly  on  the 
southern  coast ;  and  now,  sailing  with  the  wind 
aft,  the  cutter  ran  through  the  water  at  racing 
speed.  Fearing  that  some  reefs  or  rocky  forma- 
tions might  exist  in  their  course,  he  reduced 
sail,  and  kept  away  from  the  shore,  about  a  mile. 
At  this  distance  he  was  better  able  to  see  inland, 
and  mark  down  the  accidence  of  its  formation. 

The  southern  coast  was  uniform,  and  Helen 
said  it  resembled  the  cliffs  of  the  Kentish  or  Sus- 
sex coast  of  England,  only  the  English  white 
was  here  replaced  by  the  pale  volcanic  gray. 
By  one  o'clock  they  came  abreast  the  very  spot 
where  they  had  first  made  land ;  and,  as  they 


FOUL  PLAY. 


71 


judged,  due  south  of  their  residence.  Had  they 
landed  here,  a  walk  of  three  miles  across  the 
centre  of  the  island  would  have  brought  them 
home. 

For  about  a  similar  distance  the  coast  exhib- 
ited monotonous  cliffs  unbroken  even  by  a  rill. 
It  was  plain  that  the  water-shed  of  the  island 
was  all  northward.  They  now  approached  the 
eastern  end,  where  rose  the  circular  mountain  of 
which  mention  has  been  already  made.  This 
eminence  had  evidently  at  one  time  been  de- 
tached from  the  rest  of  the  land,  to  which  it  was 
now  joined  by  a  neck  of  swamp  about  a  mile  and 
a  half  in  breadth,  and  two  miles  in  length. 

Hazel  proposed  to  reconnoitre  this  part  of  the 
shore  nearly,  and  ran  the  boat  close  in  to  land. 
The  reeds  or  canes  with  which  this  bog  was 
densely  clothed  grew  in  a  dark  spongy  soil. 
Here  and  there  this  waste  was  dotted  with  rag- 
ged trees  which  he  recognized  as  the  cypress : 
from  its  gaunt  branches  hung  a  black,  funereal 
kind  of  weeper,  a  kind  of  moss  resembling  iron- 
gray  horse-hair  both  in  texture  and  uses,  though 
not  so  long  in  the  staple. 

This  parasite,  Hazel  explained  to  Helen,  was 
very  common  in  such  marshy  ground,  and  was 
the  death-flag  hung  out  by  Natui'e  to  warn  man 
that  malaria  and  fever  were  the  invisible  and  in- 
alienable inhabitants  of  that  fatal  neighborhood. 

Looking  narrowly  along  the  low  shore  for 
some  good  landing,  where  under  shelter  of  a  tree 
they  might  repose  for  an  hour,  and  spread  their 
midday  repast,  they  discovered  an  opening  in  the 
reeds,  a  kind  of  lagoon  or  bayou,  extending  into 
the  morass  between  the  highlands  of  the  island 
and  the  circular  mountain,  but  close  under  the 
base  of  the  latter.  This  inlet  he  proposed  to  ex- 
plore, and  accordingly  the  sail  was  taken  down, 
and  the  cutter  was  poled  into  the  narrow  creek. 
The  water  here  was  so  shallow  that  the  keel  slid 
over  the  quicksand  into  which  the  oar  sank  free- 
ly. The  creek  soon  became  narrow,  the  water 
deeper,  and  of  a  blacker  color,  and  the  banks 
more  densely  covered  with  canes.  These  grew  to 
the  height  of  ten  and  twelve  feet,  and  as  close  as 
wheat  in  a  thick  crop.  The  air  felt  dank  and 
heavy,  and  hummed  with  myriads  of  insects. 
The  black  water  became  so  deep  and  the  bottom 
so  sticky  that  Hazel  took  to  the  oars  again. 
The  creek  narrowed  as  they  proceeded,  until  it 
proved  scarcely  wide  enough  to  admit  of  his 
working  the  boat.  The  height  of  the  reeds  hin- 
dered the  view  on  either  side.  Suddenly,  how- 
ever, and  after  proceeding  very  slowly  through 
the  bends  of  the  canal,  they  decreased  in  height 
and  density,  and  they  emerged  into  an  open  space 
of  about  five  acres  in  extent,  a  kind  of  oasis  in 
this  reedy  desert,  created  by  a  mossy  mound 
which  arose  amidst  the  morass,  and  afforded 
firm  footing,  of  which  a  grove  of  trees  and  in- 
numerable shrubs  availed  themselves.  Helen  ut- 
tered an  exclamation  of  delight  as  this  island  of 
foliage  in  a  sea  of  reeds  met  her  eyes,  that  had 
been  famished  with  the  arid  monotony  of  the 
brake. 

They  soon  landed. 

Helen  insisted  on  the  preparations  for  their 
meal  being  left  to  her,  and,  having  selected  a 
sheltered  spot,  she  was  soon  busy  with  their  fru- 
gal food.  Hazel  surveyed  the  spot,  and,  select- 
ing a  red  cedar,  was  soon  seated  forty  feet  above 
her  head  :  making  a  topographical  survey  of  the 


neighborhood.  He  found  that  the  bayou  by 
which  they  had  entered  continued  its  course  to 
the  northern  shore,  thus  cutting  off  the  mountain 
or  easterly  end,  and  forming  of  it  a  separate  isl- 
and. He  saw  that  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther 
on  the  bayou  or  canal  parted,  forming  two 
streams,  of  which  that  to  the  left  seemed  the 
main  channel.  This  he  determined  to  follow. 
Turning  to  the  west,  that  is,  towards  their  home, 
he  saw  at  a  distance  of  two  miles  a  crest  of  hills 
broken  into  cliffs,  which  defined  the  limit  of  the 
mainland.  The  sea  had  at  one  time  occupied 
the  site  where  the  morass  now  stood.  These 
cliffs  formed  a  range,  extending  from  north  to 
south  :  their  precipitous  sides,  clothed  here  and 
there  with  trees,  marked  where  the  descent  was 
broken  by  platforms.  Between  him  and  this 
range  the  morass  extended.  Hazel  took  note  of 
three  places  where  the  descent  from  these  hills 
into  the  marsh  could,  he  believed,  most  readily 
be  made. 

On  the  eastern  side  and  close  above  him  arose 
the  peculiar  mountain.  Its  form  was  that  of  a 
truncated  cone,  and  its  sides  densely  covered 
with  trees  of  some  size. 

The  voice  of  Helen  called  him  from  his  perch, 
and  he  descended  quickly,  leaping  into  a  mass  of 
brushwood  growing  at  the  foot  of  his  tree.  He- 
len stood  a  few  yards  from  him,  in  admiration, 
before  a  large  shrub. 

"Look,  Mi\  Hazel,  what  a  singular  produc- 
tion," said  the  girl,  as  she  stooped  to  examine 
the  plant.  It  bore  a  number  of  red  flowers, 
each  growing  out  of  a  fruit  like  a  prickly  pear. 
These  flowers  were  in  various  stages  ;  some  were 
just  opening  like  tulips,  others,  more  advanced, 
had  expanded  like  umbrellas,  and  quite  overlap- 
ped the  fruit,  keeping  it  from  sun  and  dew  ; 
others  had  served  their  turn  in  that  way,  and 
been  withered  by  the  sun's  rays.  But  wherever 
this  was  the  case,  the  fruit  had  also  burst  open 
and  displayed  or  discharged  its  contents,  and 
those  contents  looked  like  seeds  ;  but  on  narrow- 
er inspection  proved  to  be  little  insects  with  pink 
transparent  wings,  and  bodies  of  incredibly  vivid 
crimson. 

Hazel  examined  the  fruit  and  flowers  very 
carefully,  and  stood  rapt,  transfixed. 

"It  must  be! — and  it  is!"  said  he  at  last. 
"  Well,  I'm  glad  I've  not  died  without  seeing  it." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  said  she. 

"  One  of  the  most  valuable  productions  of  the 
earth.     It  is  cochineal.     This  is  the  tunal-tree." 

* '  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Helen,  indifferently :  "co- 
chineal is  used  for  a  dye  ;  but  as  it  is  not  prob- 
able we  shall  require  to  dye  any  thing,  the  dis- 
covery seems  to  me  more  curious  than  useful." 

"You  wanted  some  ink.  This  pigment,  mix- 
ed with  lime-juice,  -will  form  a  beautiful  red  ink. 
Will  you  lend  me  your  handkerchief  and  permit 
me  to  try  if  I  have  forgotten  the  method  by  which 
these  little  insects  are  obtained  ?"  He  asked  her 
to  hold  her  handkerchief  under  a  bough  of  the 
tunal-tree,  where  the  fruit  was  ripe.  He  then 
shook  the  bough.  Some  insects  fell  at  once  into 
the  cloth.  A  great  number  rose  and  buzzed  a 
little  in  the  sun  not  a  yard  from  where  they  were 
born ;  but  the  sun  dried  their  blood  so  promptly 
that  they  soon  fell  dead  in  the  handkerchief. 
Those  that  the  sun  so  killed  went  through  three 
phases  of  color  before  their  eyes.  They  fell 
down  black  or  nearly.     They  whitened  on  the 


72 


FOUL  PLAY. 


cloth :  and  after  that  came  gradually  to  their 
final  color,  a  flaming  crimson.  The  insect  thus 
treated  appeared  the  most  vivid  of  all. 

They  soon  secured  about  half  a  tea-cupful ; 
they  were  rolled  up  and  put  away,  then  they  sat 
down  and  made  a  very  hearty  meal,  for  it  was 
now  past  two  o'clock.  They  re-entered  the  boat, 
and,  passing  once  more  into  the  morass,  they 
found  the  channel  of  the  bayou  as  it  approached 
the  northern  shore  less  difficult  of  navigation. 
The  bottom  became  sandy  and  hard,  and  the 
presence  of  trees  in  the  swamp  proved  that  spots 
of  terra  firma  were  more  frequent.  But  the  wa- 
ter shallowed,  and,  as  they  opened  the  shore,  he 
saw  with  great  vexation  that  the  tide  in  receding 
had  left  the  bar  at  the  mouth  of  the  canal  visible 
in  some  parts.  He  pushed  on,  however,  until  the 
boat  grounded.  This  was  a  sad  affair.  There 
lay  the  sea  not  fifty  yards  ahead.  Hazel  leap- 
ed out,  and  examined  and  forded  the  channel, 
which  at  this  place  was  about  two  hundred 
feet  wide.  He  found  a  narrow  passage  near  the 
eastern  side,  and  to  this  he  towed  the  boat. 
Then  he  begged  Miss  Rolleston  to  land,  and  re- 
lieved the  boat  of  the  mast,  sail,  and  oars.  Thus 
lightened,  he  dragged  her  into  the  passage ;  but 
the  time  occupied  in  these  preparations  had  been 
also  occupied  by  Nature, — the  tide  had  receded, 
and  the  cutter  stuck  immovably  in  the  water-way, 
about  six  fathoms  short  of  deeper  water. 

"What  is  to  be  done  now?"  inquired  Helen, 
when  Hazel  returned  to  her  side,  panting,  but 
cheerful. 

"  We  must  await  the  rising  of  the  tide.  I  fear 
we  are  imprisoned  here  for  three  hours  at  least." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  Helen  made  light 
of  the  misfortune.  The  spot  where  they  had  land- 
ed was  inclosed  between  the  two  issues  of  the  la- 
goon. They  walked  along  the  shore  to  the  more 
easterly,  and  the  narrower  canal,  and,  on  arriv- 
ing, Hazel  found  to  his  great  annoyance  that 
there  was  ample  water  to  have  floated  the  cut- 
ter had  he  selected  that,  the  least  promising 
road.  He  suggested  a  return  by  the  road  they 
came,  and  passing  into  the  other  canal,  by  tha*t 
to  reach  the  sea.  They  hurried  back,  but  found 
by  this  time  the  tide  had  left  the  cutter  high  and 
dry  on  the  sand.  So  they  had  no  choice  but  to 
wait. 

Having  three  hours  to  spare,  Hazel  asked  Miss 
Rolleston's  permission  to  ascend  the  mountain. 
She  assented  to  remain  near  the  boat  while  he 
was  engaged  in  this  expedition.  The  ascent  was 
too  rugged  and  steep  for  her  powers,  and  the  sea- 
shore and  adjacent  groves  would  find  her  ample 
amusement  during  his  absence.  She  accompa- 
nied him  to  the  bank  of  the  smaller  lagoon, 
which  he  forded,  and  waving  an  adieu  to  her  he 
plunged  into  the  dense  wood  with  which  the  sides 
of  the  mountain  were  clothed. 

She  waited  some  time,  and  then  she  heard  his 
voice  shouting  to  her  from  the  heights  above0 
The  mountain-top  was  about  three  quarters  of  a 
mile  from  where  she  stood,  but  seemed  much 
nearer.  She  turned  back  towards  the  boat,  walk- 
ing slowly,  but  paused  as  a  faint  and  distant  cry 
again  reached  her  ear.  It  was  not  repeated,  and 
then  she  entered  the  grove. 

The  ground  beneath  her  feet  was  soft  with  vel- 
vety moss,  and  the  dark  foliage  of  the  trees  ren- 
dered the  air  cool  and  deliciously  fragrant. 
After  wandering  for  some  time,  she  regained  the 


edge  of  the  grove  near  the  boat,  and  selecting  a 
spot  at  the  foot  of  an  aged  cypress,  she  sat  down 
with  her  back  against  its  trunk.  Then  she  took 
out  Arthur's  letter,  and  began  to  read  those  im- 
passioned sentences ;  as  she  read  she  sighed  deep- 
ly, as  earnestly  she  found  herself  pitying  Arthur's 
condition  more  than  she  regretted  her  own.  She 
fell  into  reverie,  and  from  revery  into  a  drowsy 
languor.  How  long  she  remained  in  this  state 
she  could  not  remember,  but  a  slight  rustle  over- 
head recalled  her  senses.  Believing  it  to  be  a 
bird  moving  in  the  branches,  she  was  resigning 
herself  again  to  rest,  when  she  became  sensible 
of  a  strange  emotion,  —  a  conviction  that  some- 
thing was  watching  her  with  a  fixed  gaze.  She 
cast  her  eyes  around,  but  saw  nothing.  She  look- 
ed upward.  From  the  tree  immediately  above 
her  lap  depended  a  snake,  its  tail  coiled  around 
a  dead  branch.  The  reptile  hung  straight,  its 
eyes  fixed  like  two  rubies  upon  Helen's,  as  very 
slowly  it  let  itself  down  by  its  uncoiling  tail. 
Now  its  head  was  on  a  level  with  hers ;  in  another 
moment  it  must  drop  into  her  lap. 
She  was  paralyzed. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

After  toiling  up  a  rugged  and  steep  ascent, 
encumbered  with  blocks  of  gray  stone,  of  which 
the  island  seemed  to  be  formed,  forcing  his  way 
over  fallen  trees  and  through  the  tangled  under- 
growth of  a  species  of  wild  vine,  which  abounded 
on  the  mountainside,  Hazel  stopped  to  breathe, 
and  peer  around  as  well  as  the  dense  foliage  per- 
mitted. He  was  up  to  his  waist  in  scrub,  and 
the  stiff  leaves  of  the  bayonet  plant  rendered  cau- 
tion necessary  in  walking.  At  moments,  through 
the  dense  foliage,  he  caught  a  glisten  of  the  sea. 
The  sun  was  in  the  north  behind  him,  and  by  this 
alone  he  guided  his  road  due  southerly  and  up- 
ward. Once  only  he  found  a  small  cleared  space 
about  an  acre  in  extent,  and  here  it  was  he  utter- 
ed the  cry  Helen  heard.  He  waited  a  few  mo- 
ments in  the  hope  to  hear  her  voice  in  reply,  but 
it  did  not  reach  him.  Again  he  plunged  upward, 
and  now  the  ascent  became  at  times  so  arduous 
that  more  than  once  he  almost  resolved  to  relin- 
quish, or,  at  least,  to  defer  his  task ;  but  a  mo- 
ment's rest  recalled  him  to  himself,  and  he  was 
one  not  easily  baffled  by  difficulty  or  labor,  so  he 
toiled  on  until  he  judged  the  summit  ought  to 
have  been  reached.  After  pausing  to  take  breath 
and  counsel,  he  fancied  that  he  had  borne  too 
much  to  the  left,  the  ground  to  his  right  appear- 
ed to  rise  more  than  the  path  that  he  was  pursu- 
ing, which  had  become  level,  and  he  concluded, 
that,  instead  of  ascending,  he  was  circling  the 
mountain-top.  He  turned  aside,  therefore,  and 
after  ten  minutes'  hard  climbing  he  was  pushing 
through  a  thick  and  high  scrub,  when  the  earth 
seemed  to  give  way  beneath  him,  and  he  fell — 
into  an  abyss. 

He  was  ingulfed.  He  fell  from  bush  to  bush 
— down — down — scratch — rip — plump  !  until  he 
lodged  in  a  prickly  bush  more  winded  than  hurt. 
Out  of  this  he  crawled,  only  to  discover  himself 
thus  landed  in  a  great  and  perfectly  circular 
plain  of  about  thirty  acres  in  extent,  or  about 
350  yards  in  diameter.  In  the  centre  was  a  lake, 
also  circular.     The  broad  belt  of  shore  around 


FOUL  PLAY. 


73 


this  lake  was  covered  with  rich  grass,  level  as  a 
bowling-green,  and  all  this  again  was  surround- 
ed by  a  nearly  perpendicular  cliff,  down  which  in- 
deed he  had  fallen  :  this  cliff  was  thickly  clothed 
with  shrubs  and  trees. 

Hazel  recognized  the  crater  of  an  extinct  vol- 
cano. 

On  examining  the  lake  he  found  the  waters 
impregnated  with  volcanic  products.  Its  bot- 
tom was  formed  of  asphaltum.  Having  made  a 
circuit  of  the  shores,  he  perceived  on  the  westerly 
side — that  next  the  island — a  break  in  the  cliff; 
and  on  a  narrow  examination  he  discovered  an 
outlet.  It  appeared  to  him  that  the  lake  at  one 
time  had  emptied  its  waters  through  this  ancient 
water-course.  The  descent  here  was  not  only 
gradual,  but  the  old  river-bed  was  tolerably  free 
from  obstructions,  especially  of  the  vegetable 
kind. 

He  made  his  way  rapidly  downward,  and  in 
half  an  hour  reached  marshy  ground.  The  cane- 
brake  now  lay  before  him.  On  his  left  he  saw 
the  sea  on  the  south,  about  a  third  of  a  mile.  He 
knew  that  to  the  right  must  be  the  sea  on  the 
north,  about  half  a  mile  or  so.  He  bent  his  way 
thither.  The  edge  of  the  swamp  was  very  clear, 
and  though  somewhat  spongy,  afforded  good 
walking  unimpeded*.  As  he  approached  the  spot 
where  he  judged  the  boat  to  be,  the  underwood 
thickened,  the  trees  again  interlaced  their  arms, 
and  he  had  to  struggle  through  the  foliage.  At 
length  he  struck  the  smaller  lagoon,  and,  as  he 
was  not  certain  whether  it  was  fordable,  he  fol- 
lowed its  course  to  the  shore,  where  he  had  pre- 
viously crossed.  In  a  few  moments  he  reached 
the  boat,  and  was  pleased  to  find  her  afloat. 
The  rising  tide  had  even  moved  her  a  few  feet 
back  into  the  canal. 

Hazel  shouted  to  apprise  Miss  Rolleston  of  his 
return,  and  then  proceeded  to  restore  the  mast  to 
its  place,  and  replace  the  rigging  and  the  oars. 
This  occupied  some  little  time.  He  felt  surprised 
that  she  had  not  appeared.  He  shouted  again. 
No  reply. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

Hazel  advanced  hurriedly  into  the  grove, 
which  he  hunted  thoroughly,  but  without  effect. 
He  satisfied  himself  that  she  could  not  have  quit- 
ted the  spot,  since  the  marsh  inclosed  it  on  one 
side,  the  canals  on  the  second  and  third,  the  sea 
on  the  fourth.  He  returned  to  the  boat  more 
surprised  than  anxious.  He  waited  awhile,  and 
again  shouted  her  name, — stopped, — listened, — 
no  answer. 

Yet  surely  Helen  could  not  have  been  more 
than  a  hundred  yards  from  where  he  stood. 
His  heart  beat  with  a  strange  sense  of  apprehen- 
sion. He  heard  nothing  but  the  rustling  of  the 
foliage  and  the  sop  of  the  waves  on  the  shore, 
as  the  tide  crept  up  the  shingle.  As  his  eyes 
roved  in  every  direction,  he  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing white  near  the  foot  of  a  withered  cypress- 
tree,  not  fifty  yards  from  where  he  stood.  He 
approached  the  bushes  in  which  the  tree  was  par- 
tially concealed  on  that  side,  and  quickly  recog- 
nized a  portion  of  Helen's  dress.  He  ran  to- 
wards her — burst  through  the  underwood,  and 
gained  the  inclosure.  She  was  sitting  there, 
asleep,   as    he   conjectured,  her   back   leaning 


against  the  trunk.  He  contemplated  her  thus 
for  one  moment,  and  then  he  advanced,  about  to 
awaken  her ;  but  was  struck  speechless.  Her 
face  was  ashy  pale,  her  eyes  open  and  widely  dis- 
tended ;  her  bosom  heaved  slowly.  Hazel  ap- 
proached rapidly,  and  called  to  her. 

Her  eyes  never  moved,  not  a  limb  stirred. 
She  sat  glaring  forward.  On  her  lap  was  coiled 
a  snake, — gray,  mottled  with  muddy  green. 

Hazel  looked  round  and  selected  a  branch  of 
the  dead  tree,  about  three  feet  in  length.  Arm- 
ed with  this,  he  advanced  slowly  to  the  reptile. 
It  was  very  quiet,  thanks  to  the  warmth  of  her 
lap.  He  pointed  the  sticE  at  it ;  the  vermin  lift- 
ed its  head,  and  its  tail  began  to  quiver ;  then  it 
darted  at  the  stick,  throwing  itself  its  entire 
length.  Hazel  retreated,  the  snake  coiled  again, 
and  again  darted.  By  repeating  this  process  four 
or  five  times,  he  enticed  the  creature  away  ;  and 
then,  availing  himself  of  a  moment  before  it 
could  recoil,  he  struck  it  a  smart  blow  on  the 
neck. 

When  Hazel  turned  to  Miss  Rolleston,  he  found 
her  still  fixed  in  the  attitude  into  which  terror 
had  transfixed  her.  The  poor  girl  had  remained 
motionless  for  an  hour,  under  the  terrible  fasci- 
nation of  the  reptile,  comatized.  He  spoke  to 
her,  but  a  quick  spasmodic  action  of  her  throat 
and  a  quivering  of  her  hands  alone  responded. 
The  sight  of  her  suffering  agonized  him  beyond 
expression,  but  he  took  her  hands, — he  pressed 
them,  for  they  were  icy  cold, — he  called  piteous- 
ly  on  her  name.  But  she  seemed  incapable  of 
effort.  Then  stooping  he  raised  her  tenderly  in 
his  arms,  and  carried  her  to  the  boat,  where  he 
laid  her,  still  unresisting  and  incapable. 

With  trembling  limbs  and  weak  hands,  he 
launched  the  cutter,  and  they  were  once  more 
afloat  and  bound  homeward. 

He  dipped  the  baler  into  the  fresh  water  he  had 
brought  with  him  for  their  daily  supply,  and  dash- 
ed it  on  her  forehead.  This  he  repeated  until 
he  perceived  her  breathing  became  less  painful 
and  more  rapid.  Then  he  raised  her  a  little, 
and  her  head  rested  upon  his  arm.  When  they 
reached  the  entrance  of  the  bay  he  was  obliged 
to  pass  it,  for,  the  wind  being  still  southerly,  he 
could  not  enter  by  the  north  gate,  but  came 
round  and  ran  in  by  the  western  passage,  the 
same  by  which  they  had  left  the  same  morning. 

Hazel  bent  over  Helen,  and  whispered  tender- 
ly that  they  were  at  home.  She  answered  by  a 
sob.  In  half  an  hour  the  keel  grated  on  the  sand 
near  the  boat-house.  Then  he  asked  her  if  she 
were  strong  enough  to  reach  her  hut.  She 
raised  her  head,  but  she  felt  dizzy;  he  helped 
her  to  land  ;  all  power  had  forsaken  her  limbs ; 
her  head  sank  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  arm, 
wound  round  her  lithe  figure,  alone  prevented 
her  falling  helplessly  at  his  feet.  Again  he  raised 
her  in  his  arms  and  bore  her  to  the  hut.  Here 
he  laid  her  down  on  her  bed,  and  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment beside  her,  unable  to  restrain  his  tears. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

It  was  a  wretched  and  anxious  night  for  Ha- 
zel. He  watched  the  hut,  without  the  courage 
to  approach  it.  That  one  moment  of  weakness 
which  occurred  to  him  on  board  the  Proserpine, 


71 


FOUL  PLAY. 


when  he  had  allowed  Helen  to  perceive  the  na- 
ture of  his  feelings  towards  her,  had  rendered  all 
his  actions  open  to  suspicion.  He  dared  not  ex- 
hibit towards  her  any  sympathy, — he  might  not 
extend  to  her  the  most  ordinary  civility.  If  she 
fell  ill,  if  fever  supervened !  how  could  he  nurse 
her,  attend  upon  her  ?  His  touch  must  have  a 
significance,  he  knew  that ;  for,  as  he  bore  her 
insensible  form,  he  embraced  rather  than  carried 
the  precious  burden.  Could  he  look  upon  her 
in  her  suffering  without  betraying  his  forbidden 
love  ?  And  then  would  not  his  attentions  afflict 
more  than  console? 

Chewing  the  cud  of  such  bitter  thoughts,  he 
passed  the  night  without  noticing  the  change 
which  was  taking  place  over  the  island.  The 
sun  rose  ;  and  this  awakened  him  from  his  rev- 
erie, which  had  replaced  sleep ;  he  looked  around, 
and  then  became  sensible  of  the  warnings  in  the 
air. 

The  sea-birds  flew  about  vaguely  and  absurd- 
ly, and  seemed  sporting  in  currents  of  wind;  yet 
there  was  but  little  wind  down  below.  Present- 
ly clouds  came  flying  over  the  sky,  and  blacker 
masses  gathered  on  the  horizon.  The  sea 
changed  color. 

Hazel  knew  the  weather  was  breaking.  The 
wet  season  was  at  hand, — the  moment  when  fe- 
ver, if  such  an  invisible  inhabitant  there  was  on 
that  island,  would  visit  them.  In  a  few  hours 
the  rain  would  be  upon  them,  and  he  reproached 
himself  with  want  of  care  in  the  construction  of 
the  hut.  For  some  hours  he  hovered  around  it 
before  he  ventured  to  approach  the  door  and  call 
to  Helen.  He  thought  he  heard  her  voice  faint- 
ly, and  he  enteied.  She  lay  there  as  he  had 
placed  her.  He  knelt  beside  her,  and  was  ap- 
palled at  the  change  in  her  appearance. 

The  poor  girl's  system  had  received  a  shock 
for  which  it  was  unprepared.  Her  severe  suffer- 
ings at  sea  had,  strange  to  say,  reduced  her  in 
appearance  less  than  could  have  been  believed  ; 
for  her  physical  endurance  proved  greater  than 
that  of  the  strong  men  around  her.  But  the  food 
which  the  island  supplied  was  not  suited  to  re- 
store her  strength,  and  the  nervous  shock  to 
which  she  had  been  subjected  was  followed  by 
complete  prostration. 

Hazel  took  her  unresisting  hand,  which  he 
would  have  given  a  world  to  press.  He  felt  her 
pulse  ;  it  was  weak,  but  slow.  Her  cheeks  were 
hollow,  her  eyes  sunken  ;  her  hand  dropped  help- 
lessly when  he  released  it. 

Leaving  the  hut  quietly,  but  hastily,  he  de- 
scended the  hill  to  the  rivulet,  which  he  crossed. 
About  half  a  mile  above  the  boat-house  the  stream 
forked,  one  of  its  branches  coming  from  the  west, 
the  other  from  the  east.  Between  this  latter 
branch  and  Terrapin  Wood  was  a  stony  hill ;  to 
this  spot  Hazel  went,  and  fell  to  gathering  a 
handful  of  poppies.  When  he  had  obtained  a 
sufficient  quantity  he  returned  to  the  boat-house, 
made  a  small  fire  of  chips,  and,  filling  his  tin 
baler  with  water,  he  set  down  the  poppies  to  boil. 
When  the  liquor  was  cool,  he  measured  out  a 
portion  and  drank  it.  In  about  twenty  minutes 
his  temples  began  to  throb,  a  sensation  which  was 
rapidly  followed  by  nausea. 

It  was  midday  before  he  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  his  experiment  sufficiently  to  take  food. 
Then  he  waited  for  two  hours,  and  felt  much  re- 
stored.    He  stole  to  the  hut  and  looked  in.     Hel- 


en lay  there  as  he  had  left  her.  He  stooped  over 
her;  her  eyes  were  half  closed,  and  she  turned 
them  slowly  upon  him ;  her  lips  moved  a  little, 
— that  was  all.  He  felt  her  pulse  again  ;  it  was 
still  weaker,  and  slower.  He  rose  and  went  away, 
and,  regaining  the  boat-house,  he  measured  out 
a  portion  of  the  poppy  liquor,  one-third  of  the 
dose  he  had  previously  taken,  and  drank  it.  No 
headache  or  nausea  succeeded  ;  he  felt  his  pulse ; 
it  became  quick  and  violent,  while  a  sense  of 
numbness  overcame  him,  and  he  slept.  It  was 
but  for  a  few  minutes.  He  awoke  with  a  throb- 
bing brow,  and  some  sickness ;  but  with  a  sense 
of  delight  at  the  heart,  for  he  had  found  an  opi- 
ate, and  prescribed  its  quantity. 

He  drained  the  liquor  away  from  the  poppy 
leaves,  and  carried  it  to  the  hut.  Measuring 
with  great  care  a  small  quantity,  he  lifted  the 
girl's  head  and  placed  it  to  her  lips.  She  drank 
it  mechanically.  Then  he  watched  beside  her, 
until  her  breathing  and  her  pulse  changed  in 
character.  She  slept.  He  turned  aside  then, 
and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  prayed  fer- 
vently for  her  life, — prayed  as  we  pray  for  the 
daily  bread  of  the  heart.     He  prayed  and  waited. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

The  next  morning,  when  Helen  awoke,  she 
was  very  weak ;  her  head  ached,  but  she  was 
herself.  Hazel  had  made  a  broth  for  her  from 
the  fleshy  part  of  a  turtle ;  this  greatly  revived 
her,  and  by  midday  she  was  able  to  sit  up.  Hav- 
ing seen  that  her  wants  were  within  her  reach, 
he  left  her ;  but  in  a  few  moments  she  heard 
him  busily  engaged  on  the  roof  of  her  hut. 

On  his  return,  he  explained  to  her  his  fears 
that  the  structure  was  scarcely  as  weather-proof 
as  he  desired ;  and  he  anticipated  hourly  the 
commencement  of  the  rainy  season.  Helen  smil- 
ed and  pointed  to  the  sky,  which  here  was  clear 
and  bright.  But  Hazel  shook  his  head  doubt- 
tingly.  The  wet  season  would  commence  prob- 
ably with  an  atmospheric  convulsion,  and  then 
settle  down  to  uninterrupted  rain.  Helen  refused 
obstinately  to  believe  in  more  rain  than  they  had 
experienced  on  board  the  boat — a  genial  shower. 

"  Yoa  will  see,"  replied  Hazel.  "  If  you  do 
not  change  your  views  within  the  next  three 
days,  then  call  me  a  false  prophet." 

The  following  day  passed,  and  Helen  recover- 
ed more  strength,  but  still  was  too  weak  to  walk; 
but  she  employed  herself,  at  Hazel's  request,  in 
making  a  rope  of  cocoa-nut  fibre,  some  forty 
yards  long.  This  he  required  to  fish  up  the  spar 
to  a  sufficient  height  on  the  great  palm-tree,  and 
bind  it  firmly  in  its  place.  While  she  worked 
nimbly,  he  employed  himself  in  gathering  a  store 
of  such  things  as  they  would  require  during  the 
coming  wintry  season.  She  watched  him  with 
a  smile,  but  he  persevered.  So  that  day  passed. 
The  next  morning  the  rope  was  finished.  Helen 
was  not  so  well,  and  was  about  to  help  herself  to 
the  poppy  liquor,  when  Hazel  happily  stopped  her 
hand  in  time :  he  showed  her  the  exact  dose  nec- 
essary, and  explained  minutely  the  effects  of  a 
larger  draught.  Then  he  shouldered  the  rope, 
and  set  out  for  Palm-tree  Point. 

He  was  absent  about  six  hours,  of  which  Helen 
slept  four.      And  for  two,  which  seemed  very 


FOUL  PLAY. 


75 


long,  she  ruminated.  What  was  she  thinking 
of  that  made  her  smile  and  weep  at  the  same 
moment  ?  and  she  looked  so  impatiently  to- 
wards the  door.  He  entered  at  last  very  fa- 
tigued. It  was  eleven  miles  to  the  Point  and  back. 
While  eating  his  frugal  supper,  he  gave  her  a 
detail  of  his  day's  adventures.  Strange  to  say, 
he  had  not  seen  a  single  seal  on  the  sands.  He 
described  how  he  had  tied  one  end  of  her  rope 
to  the  middle  of  the  spar,  and,  with  the  other 
between  his  teeth,  he  climbed  the  great  palm. 
For  more  than  an  hour  he  toiled ;  he  gained  its 
top,  passed  the  rope  over  one  of  its  branches,  and 
hauled  up  the  spar  to  about  eighty  feet  above 
the  ground  :  then  descending  with  the  other  end, 
he  wound  the  rope  spirally  round  and  round  the 
tree,  thus  binding  to  its  trunk  the  first  twenty 
feet  by  which  the  spar  hung  from  the  branch. 

She  listened  very  carelessly,  he  thought,  and 
betrayed  little  interest  in  this  enterprise  which 
had  cost  him  so  much  labor  and  fatigue. 

When  he  had  concluded,  she  was  silent  awhile, 
and  then,  looking  up  quickly,  said,  to  his  great 
surprise, — 

"  I  think  I  may  increase  the  dose  of  your 
medicine  there.  You  are  mistaken  in  its  power. 
I  am  sure  I  can  take  four  times  what  you  gave 
me." 

"  Indeed  you  are  mistaken,"  he  answered, 
quickly.  "I  gave  you  the  extreme  measui*e 
you  can  take  with  safety." 

"How  do  you  know  that?  You  can  only 
guess  at  its  effects.     At  any  rate,  I  shall  try  it." 

Hazel  hesitated,  and  then  confessed  that  he 
had  made  a  little  experiment  on  himself  before 
risking  its  effects  upon  her. 

Helen  looked  up  at  him  as  he  said  this  so  sim- 
ply and  quietly.  Her  great  eyes  filled  with  an 
angelic  light.  Was  it  admiration?  Was  it 
thankfulness?  Her  bosom  heaved,  and  her  lips 
quivered.  It  was  but  a  moment,  and  she  felt 
glad  that  Hazel  had  turned  away  from  her  and 
saw  nothing. 

A  long  silence  followed  this  little  episode, 
when  she  was  aroused  from  her  reverie. 

Patter — pat — pat — patter. 

She  looked  up. 

Pat — patter — patter. 

Their  eyes  met.  It  was  the  rain.  Hazel 
only  smiled  a  little,  and  then  ran  down  to  his 
boat-house,  to  see  that  all  was  right  there,  and 
then  returned  with  a  large  bundle  of  chips,  with 
which  he  made  a  fire,  for  the  sky  had  darkened 
overhead.  Gusts  of  wind  ran  along  the  water; 
it  had  become  suddenly  chilly.  They  had  al- 
most forgotten  the  feel  of  wet  weather. 

Ere  the  fife  had  kindled,  the  rain  came  down 
in  torrents,  and,  the  matted  roof  being  reson- 
ant, they  heard  it  strike  here  and  there  above 
their  heads. 

Helen  sat  down  on  her  little  stool  and  reflect- 
ed. 

In  that  hut  were  two  persons.  One  had  fore- 
told this,  and  feared  it,  and  provided  against  it. 
The  other  had  said  petulantly  it  was  a  bugbear. 

And  now  the  rain  was  pattering,  and  the 
Prophet  was  on  his  knees  making  her  as  com- 
fortable as  he  could  in  spite  of  all,  and  was  not 
the  man  to  remind  her  he  had  foretold  it. 

She  pondered  his  character  while  she  watched 
his  movements.  He  put  down  his  embers,  then 
he  took  a  cocoa-pod  out  from  the  wall,  cut  it  in 


!  slices  with  his  knife,  and  made  a  fine  clear  fire ; 
then  he  ran  out  again,  in  spite  of  Helen's  re- 
monstrance, and  brought  a  dozen  large  scales 
of  the  palm-tree.  It  was  all  the  more  cheering 
for  the  dismal  scene  without  and  the  pattering 
of  the  rain  on  the  resounding  roof. 

But,  thanks  to  Hazel's  precaution,  the  hut 
proved  weather-tight ;  of  which  fact  having  sat- 
isfied himself,  he  bade  her  good- night.  He  was 
at  the  door  when  her  voice  recalled  him. 

"  Mr.  Hazel,  I  can  not  rest  this  night  without 
asking  your  pardon  for  all  the  unkind  things  I 
j  may  have  done  and  said  ;  without  thanking  you 
j  humbly  for  your  great  forbearance  and  your — 
|  respect  for  the  unhap — I  mean  the  unfortunate 
'  girl  thus  cast  upon  your  mercy." 

She  held  out  her  hand ;  he  took  it  between 
j  his  own,  and  faintly  expressed  his  gratitude  for 
her  kindness ;  and  so  she  sent  him  away  brimful 
of  happiness. 

The  rain  was  descending  in  torrents.  She 
heard  it,  but  he  did  not  feel  it ;  for  she  had 
spread  her  angel's  wings  over  his  existence,  and 
he  regained  his  sheltered  boat-house  he  knew 
not  how. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  Hazel  had  kept 
a  calendar  of  the  week,  and  every  seventh  day 
was  laid  aside  with  jealousy,  to  be  devoted  to 
such  simple  religious  exercises  as  he  could  in- 
vent. The  rain  still  continued,  with  less  vio- 
lence indeed,  but  without  an  hour's  intermission. 
After  breakfast  he  read  to  her  the  exodus  of  the 
Israelites,  and  their  sufferings  during  that  des- 
ert life.  He  compared  those  hardships  with 
their  own  troubles,  and  pointed  out  to  her  how 
their  condition  presented  many  things  to  be 
j  thankful  for.  The  island  was  fruitful,  the  cli- 
mate healthy.  They  might  have  been  cast  away 
on  a  sandy  key  or  reef,  where  they  would  have 
perished  slowly  and  miserably  of  hunger  and  ex- 
posure. Then  they  were  spared  to  each  other. 
Had  she  been  alone  there,  she  could  not  have 
provided  for  herself;  had  he  been  cast  away  a 
solitary  man,  the  island  would  have  been  to  him 
an  intolerable  prison. 

In  all  these  reflections  Hazel  was  very  guard- 
ed that  no  expression  should  escape  him  to 
arouse  her  apprehension.  He  was  so  careful  of 
this,  that  she  observed  his  caution  and  watched 
his  restraint.  A  nd  Helen  was  thinking  more  of 
this  than  of  the  holy  subject  on  which  he  was 
discoursing.  The  disguise  he  threw  over  his 
heart  was  penetrable  to  the  girl's  eye.  She  saw 
his  love  in  every  careful  word,  and  employed 
herself  in  detecting  it  under  his  rigid  manner. 
Secure  in  her  own  position,  she  could  examine 
his  from  the  loop-holes  of  her  soul,  and  take  a 
pleasure  in  witnessing  the  suppressed  happiness 
she  could  bestow  with  a  word.  She  did  not  won- 
der at  her  power.  The  best  of  women  have  the 
natural  vanity  to  take  for  granted  the  sway  they 
assume  over  the  existence  which  submits  to  them. 

A  week  passed  thus,  and  Hazel  blessed  the 
rain  that  drove  them  to  this  sociability.  He  had 
prepared  the  bladder  of  a  young  seal  which  had 
drifted  ashore  dead.  This  membrane,  dried  in 
the  sun,  formed  a  piece  of  excellent  parchment, 
and  ho  desired  to  draw  upon  it  a  map  of  the  isl- 


76 


FOUL  PLAY. 


and.  To  accomplish  this,  the  first  thing  was  to 
obtain  a  good  red  ink  from  the  cochineal,  which 
is  crimson.  He  did  according  to  his  means. 
He  got  one  of  the  tin  vessels,  and  filed  it  till  he 
had  obtained  a  considerable  quantity  of  the  metal. 
This  he  subjected  for  forty  hours  to  the  action 
of  lime-juice.  He  then  added  the  cochineal, 
and  mixed  till  he  obtained  a  fine  scarlet.  In 
using  it  he  added  a  small  quantityof  a  hard  and 
pure  gum, — he  had  found  gum  abounded  in  the 
island.  His  pen  was  made  from  an  osprey's 
feather,  hundreds  of  which  were  strewn  about  the 
cliffs,  and  some  of  these  he  had  already  secured 
and  dried. 

Placing  his  tin  baler  before  him,  on  whichhe  had 
scratched  his  notes,  he  drew  a  map  of  the  island. 

"What  shall  we  call  it?"  said  he. 

Helen  paused,  and  then  replied,  "  Call  it 
'  Godsend  '  Island." 

"  So  I  will,"  he  said,  and  wrote  it  down. 

Then  they  named  the  places  they  had  seen. 
The  reef  Helen  had  discovered  off  the  north- 
west coast  they  called  "  White  Water  Island," 
because  of  the   breakers.     Then   came   "  Seal 


Bi 


Palm-tree  Point,"  "  Mount  Lookout  " 


(this  was  the  hill  due  south  of  where  they  lived). 
They  called  the  cane  -  brake  "  Wild  Duck 
Swamp,"  and  the  spot  where  they  lunched 
"Cochineal  Clearing."  The  mountain  was 
named  "  Mount  Cavity." 

But  what  shall  we  call  the  capital  of  the  king- 
dom —  this  hut  ?"  said  Miss  Rolleston,  as  she 
leaned  over  him  and  pointed  to  the  spot. 

11  Saint  Helen's,"  said  Hazel,  looking  up  ;  and 
he  wrote  it  down  ere  she  could  object. 

Then  there  was  a  little  awkward  pause,  while 
he  was  busily  occupied  in  filling  up  some  topo- 
graphical details.     She  turned  it  off  gayly. 

"  What  are  those  caterpillars  that  you  have 
drawn  there,  sprawling  over  my  kingdom?"  she 
asked. 

*'  Caterpillars  !  you  are  complimentary,  Miss 
Rolleston.     Those  are  mountains." 

"Oh,  indeed  ;  and  those  lines  you  are  now 
drawing  are  rivers,  I  presume." 

"  Yes ;  let  us  call  this  branch  of  our  solitary  es- 
tuary, which  runs  westward,  the  river  Lee,  and 
this,  to  the  east,  the  river  Medway.  Is  such 
your  Majesty's  pleasure  ?" 

"  La  Heine  le  vent,"  replied  Helen,  smiling. 
"  But,  Master  Geographer,  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  are  putting  in  mountains  and  rivers  which 
you  have  never  explored  :  how  do  you  know  that 
these  turns  and  twists  in  the  stream  exist  as  you 
represent  them  ?  and  those  spurs,  which  look  so 
real,  have  you  not  added  them  only  to  disguise 
the  caterpillar  character  of  your  range  of  hills?" 

Hazel  laughed  as  he  confessed  to  drawing  on 
his  fancy  for  some  little  details.  But  pleaded 
that  all  geographers,  when  they  drew  maps,  were 
licensed  to  fill  in  a  few  such  touches,  where  dis- 
covery had  failed  to  supply  particulars. 

Helen  had  always  believed  religiously  in  maps, 
and  was  amused  when  she  reflected  on  her  for- 
mer credulitv. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

Helen's  strength  was  coming  back  to  her  but 
slowly ;  she  complained  of  great  lassitude  and 
want  of  appetite.     But,  the  following  day  hav- 


ing cleared  up,  the  sun  shone  out  with  great  power 
and  brilliancy.  She  gladly  welcomed  the  return 
of  the  fine  weather,  but  Hazel  shook  his  head  ; 
ten  days'  rain  was  not  their  portion, — the  bad 
weather  would  return,  and  complete  the  month 
or  six  weeks'  winter  to  which  Nature  was  enti- 
tled. The  next  evening  the  appearance  of  the 
sky  confirmed  his  opinion.  The  sun  set  like  a 
crimson  shield  ;  gory,  and  double  its  usual  size. 
It  entered  into  a  thick  bank  of  dark  violet  cloud 
that  lay  on  the  horizon,  and  seemed  to  split  the 
vapor  into  rays,  but  of  a  dusky  kind ;  imme- 
diately above  this  crimson,  the  clouds  were  of  a 
brilliant  gold,  but  higher  they  were  the  color  of 
rubies,  and  went  gradually  off  to  gray. 

But  as  the  orb  dipped  to  the  horizon  a  solid 
pile  of  unearthly  clouds  came  up  from  the  south- 
east ;  their  bodies  were  singularly  and  unnatu- 
rally black,  and  mottled  with  copper-color,  and 
hemmed  with  a  fiery  yellow  :  and  these  infernal 
clouds  towered  up  their  heads,  pressing  forward 
as  if  they  .all  strove  for  precedency ;  it  was  like 
Milton's  fiends  attacking  the  sky.  The  rate  at 
which  they  climbed  was  wonderful.  The  sun 
set  and  the  moon  rose  full,  and  showed  those  an- 
gry masses  surging  upwards  and  jostling  each 
other  as  they  flew. 

Yet  below  it  was  dead  calm. 

Having  admired  the  sublimity  of  the  scene, 
and  seen  the  full  moon  rise,  but  speedily  lose  her 
light  in  a  brassy  halo,  they  entered  the  hut,  which 
was  now  the  head-quarters,  and  they  supped  to- 
gether there. 

While  they  were  eating  their  little  meal  the 
tops  of  the  trees  were  heard  to  sigh,  so  still  was 
every  thing  else.  None  the  less  did  those 
strange  clouds  fly  northward,  eighty  miles  an 
hour.  After  supper,  Helen  sat  busy  over  the 
fire,  where  some  gum,  collected  by  Hazel,  resem- 
bling India-rubber,  was  boiling ;  she  was  prepar- 
ing to  cover  a  pair  of  poor  Welch's  shoes,  inside 
and  out,  with  a  coat  of  this  material,  which  Ha- 
zel believed  to  be  water-proof.  She  sat  in  such 
a  position  that  he  could  watch  her.  It  was  a 
happy  evening.  She  seemed  content.  She  had 
got  over  her  fear  of  hifn  ;  they  were  good  com- 
rades if  they  were  nothing  more.  It  was  hap- 
piness to  him  to  be  by  her  side  even  on  those 
terms.  He  thought  of  it  all  as  he  looked  at  her. 
How  distant  she  had  seemed  once  to  him  ;  what 
an  unapproachable  goddess.  Yet  there  she  was 
by  his  side  in  a  hut  he  had  made  for  her. 

He  could  not  help  sipping  the  soft  intoxicat- 
ing draught  her  mere  presence  offered  him.  But 
by-and-by  he  felt  his  heart  was  dissolving  with- 
in him,  and  he  was  trifling  with  danger.  He 
must  not  look  on  her  too  long,  seated  by  the  fire 
like  a  wife.  The  much-enduring  man  rose,  and 
turned  his  back  upon  the  sight  he  loved  so  dear- 
ly: he  went  out  at  the  open  door,  intending  to 
close  it  and  bid  her  good-night.  But  he  did  not 
do  so,  just  then  ;  for  his  attention  as  an  observer 
of  nature  was  arrested  by  the  unusual  conduct 
of  certain  animals.  Gannets  and  other  sea-birds 
were  running  about  the  opposite  wood  and  cran- 
ing their  necks  in  a  strange  way.  He  had  nev- 
er seen  one  enter  that  wood  before. 

Seals  and  sea-lions  were  surrounding  the  slope, 
and  crawling  about,  and  now  and  then  plunging 
into  the  river,  which  they  crossed  with  infinite 
difficulty,  for  it  was  running  very  high  and 
strong.     The  trees  also  sighed  louder  than  ever. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


77 


Hazel  turned  back  to  tell  Miss  Rolleston  some- 
thing extraordinary  was  going  on.  She  sat  in 
sight  from  the  river,  and,  as  he  came  towards 
the  hut,  he  saw  her  sitting  by  the  fire  reading. 

He  stopped  short.  Her  work  lay  at  her  feet ; 
she  had  taken  out  a  letter,  and  she  was  reading 
it  by  the  fire. 

As  she  read  it  her  face  was  a  puzzle.  But 
Hazel  saw  the  act  alone ;  and  a  dart  of  ice  seem- 
ed to  go  through  and  through  him. 

This,  then,  was  her  true  source  of  consolation. 
He  thought  it  was  so  before.  He  had  even  rea- 
son to  think  so.  But,  never  seeing  any  palpable 
proofs,  he  had  almost  been  happy.  He  turned 
sick  with  jealous  misery,  and  stood  there  rooted 
and  frozen. 

Then  came  a  fierce  impulse  to  shut  the  sight 
out  that  caused  this  pain. 

He  almost  flung  her  portcullis  to,  and  made 
his  hands  bleed.  But  a  bleeding  heart  does  not 
feel  scratches. 

"Good-night,"  said  he,  hoarsely. 

"  Good-night,"  said  she,  kindly. 

And  why  should  she  not  read  his  letter  ?  She 
was  his  affianced  bride,  bound  to  him  by  honor 
as  well  as  inclination.  This  was  the  reflection 
to  which,  after  a  sore  battle  with  his  loving 
heart,  the  much-enduring  man  had  to  come  to 
at  last ;  and  he  had  come  to  it,  and  was  getting 
back  his  peace  of  mind,  though  not  his  late 
complacency,  and  about  to  seek  repose  in  sleep, 
when  suddenly  a  clap  of  wind  came  down  like 
thunder,  and  thrashed  the  island  and  every 
thing  in  it. 

Every  thing  animate  and  inanimate  seemed  to 
cry  out  as  the  blow  passed. 

Another  soon  followed,  and  another — inter- 
mittent gusts  at  present,  but  of  such  severity  that 
not  one  came  without  making  its  mark. 

Birds  were  driven  away  like  paper  ;  the  sea- 
lions  whimpered,  and  crouched  into  corners,  and 
huddled  together,  and  held  each  other,  whining. 

Hazel  saw  but  one  thing ;  the  frail  edifice  he 
had  built  for  the  creature  he  adored.  He  look- 
ed out  of  his  boat,  and  fixed  his  horror-stricken 
eyes  on  it ;  he  saw  it  waving  to  and  fro,  yet  still 
firm.  But  he  could  not  stay  there.  If  not  in 
danger,  she  must  be  terrified.  He  must  go  and 
support  her.  He  left  his  shelter,  and  ran  towards 
her  hut.  With  a  whoop  and  a  scream  another 
blast  tore  through  the  wood,  and  caught  him. 
He  fell,  dug  his  hands  into  the  soil,  and  clutched 
the  earth.  While  he  was  in  that  position,  he 
heard  a  sharp  crack  ;  he  looked  up  in  dismay 
and  saw  that  one  of  Helen's  trees  had  broken  like 
a  carrot,  and  the  head  was  on  the  ground  leap- 
ing about ;  while  a  succession  of  horrible  sounds 
of  crashing,  and  rending,  and  tearing,  showed 
the  frail  hut  was  giving  way  on  every  side  ;  rack- 
ed and  riven  and  torn  to  pieces.  Hazel,  though  a 
stout  man,  uttered  cries  of  terror  death  would  ne- 
ver have  drawn  from  him  ;  and,  with  a  desperate 
headlong  rush,  he  got  to  the  place  where  the  bow- 
er had  been,  but  now  it  was  a  prostrate  skeleton, 
with  the  mat  roof  flapping  like  a  loose  sail  above 
it,  and  Helen  below. 

As  he  reached  the  hut,  the  wind  got  hold  of 
the  last  of  the  four  shrubs,  that  did  duty  for  a 
door,  and  tore  it  from  the  cord  that  held  it,  and 
whirled  it  into  the  air  ;  it  went  past  Hazel's  face 
like  a  bird  flying. 
v    Though  staggered  himself  by  the  same  blow 


of  wind,  he  clutched  the  tree  and  got  into  the 
hut. 

He  found  her  directly.  She  was  kneeling  be- 
neath the  mat  that  a  few  minutes  ago  had  been 
her  roof.  He  extricated  her  in  a  moment,  utter- 
ing inarticulate  cries  of  pity  and  fear. 

"Don't  be  frightened,"  said  she,  "I  am  not 
hurt." 

But  he  felt  her  quiver  from  head  to  foot.  He 
wrapped  her  in  all  her  rugs,  and  thinking  of 
nothing  but  her  safety,  lifted  her  in  his  strong 
arms  to  take  her  to  his  own  place,  which  was 
safe  from  wind  at  least. 

But  this  was  no  light  work.  To  go  there  erect 
was  impossible. 

Holding  tight  by  the  tree,  he  got  her  to  the 
lee  of  the  tent  and  waited  for  a  lull.  He  went 
rapidly  down  the  hill,  but,  ere  he  reached  the 
river,  a  gust  came  careering  over  the  sea.  A 
sturdy  young  tree  was  near  him.  He  placed 
her  against  it  and  wound  his  arms  round  her 
and  its  trunk.  The  blast  came :  the  tree  bent 
almost  to  the  ground,  then  whirled  round,  recov- 
ered, shivered ;  but  he  held  firmly.  It  passed. 
Again  he  lifted  her,  and  bore  her  to  the  boat- 
house.  As  he  went,  the  wind  almost  choked  her, 
and  her  long  hair  lashed  his  face  like  a  whip. 
But  he  got  her  in,  and  then  sat  panting  and 
crouching,  but  safe.  They  were  none  too  soon  ; 
the  tempest  increased  in  violence,  and  became 
more  continuous.  No  clouds,  but  a  ghastly 
glare  all  over  the  sky.  No  rebellious  waves, 
but  a  sea  hissing  and  foaming  under  its  master's 
lash.  The  river  ran  roaring  and  foaming  by, 
and  made  the  boat  heave  even  in  its  little  creek. 
The  wind,  though  it  could  no  longer  shake  them, 
went  screaming  terribly  close  over  their  heads, 
— no  longer  like  air  in  motion,  but  solid  and 
keen,  it  seemed  the  Almighty's  scythe  mowing 
down  nature ;  and  soon  it  became,  like  turbid 
water,  blackened  with  the  leaves,  branches,  and 
fragments  of  all  kinds  it  whirled  along  with  it. 
The  trees  fell  crashing  on  all  sides,  and  the  re- 
mains passed  over  their  heads  into  the  sea. 

Helen  behaved  admirably.  Speech  was  im- 
possible, but  she  thanked  him  without  it, — elo- 
quently ;  she  nestled  her  little  hand  into  Hazel's, 
and  to  Hazel  that  night,  with  all  its  awful  sights 
and  sounds,  was  a  blissful  one.  She  had  been 
in  danger,  but  now  was  safe  by  his  side.  She 
had  pressed  his  hand  to  thank  him,  and  now 
she  was  cowering  a  little  towards  him  in  a  way 
that  claimed  him  as  her  protector.  Her  glori- 
ous hair  blew  over  him  and  seemed  to  net  him  :. 
and  now  and  then,  as  they  heard  some  crash 
nearer  and  more  awful  than  another,  she  clutch- 
ed him  quickly  though  lightly ;  for,  in  danger, 
her  sex  love  to  feel  a  friend;  it  is  not  enough 
to  see  him  near :  and  once,  when  a  great  dusky 
form  of  a  sea-lion  came  crawling  over  the  mound, 
and  whimpering  peeped  into  the  boat-house,  she 
even  fled  to  his  shoulder  with  both  hands  for 
a  moment,  and  was  there,  light  as  a  feather,  till 
the  creature  had  passed  on.  And  his  soul  was 
full  of  peace,  and  a  great  tranquillity  overcame 
it.  He  heard  nothing  of  the  wrack,  knew  noth- 
ing of  the  danger. 

Oh,  mighty  Love !  The  tempest  might  blow, 
and  fill  the  air  and  earth  with  ruin,  so  that  it 
spared  her.  The  wind  was  kind,  and  gentle  the 
night,  which  brought  that  hair  round  his  face, 
and  that  head  so  near  his  shoulder,  and  gave 


73 


FOUL  PLAY. 


him  the  holy  joy  of  protecting  under  his  wing 
the  soft  creature  he  adored. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

On  the  morning  that  followed  this  memorable 
night  our  personages  seemed  to  change  charac- 
ters. Hazel  sat  down  before  the  relics  of  the  hut 
—three  or  four  strings  dangling,  and  a  piece  of 
network  waving — and  eyed  them  with  shame, 
regret,  and  humiliation.  He  was  so  absorbed 
in  his  self-reproaches  that  he  did  not  hear  a  light 
footstep,  and  Helen  Rolleston  stood  near  him  a 
moment  or  two,  and  watched  the  play  of  his 
countenance  with  a  very  inquisitive  and  kindly 
light  in  her  own  eyes. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  she,  soothingly. 

Hazel  started  at  the  music. 

"Never  mind  your  house  being  blown  to 
atoms,  and  mine  has  stood  ?"  said  he,  half  re- 
proachfully. 

"  You  took  too  much  pains  with  mine." 

"  I  will  take  a  great  deal  more  with  the  next." 

"I  hope  not.  But  I  want  you  to  come  and 
look  at  the  havoc.  It  is  terrible ;  and  yet  so 
grand. "  And  thus  she  drew  him  away  from  the 
sight  that  caused  his  pain. 

They  entered  the  wood  by  a  path  Hazel  had 
cut  from  the  sea-shore,  and  viewed  the  devasta- 
tion in  Terrapin  Wood.  Prostrate  trees  lay 
across  one  another  in  astonishing  numbers,  and 
in  the  strangest  positions ;  and  their  glorious 
plumes  swept  the  earth.  "Come,"  said  she, 
"  it  is  a  bad  thing  for  the  poor  trees,  but  not  for 
us.  See,  the  place  is  strewed  with  treasures. 
Here  is  a  tree  full  of  fans  all  ready  made.  And 
what  is  that  ?  A  horse's  tail  growing  on  a  cocoa- 
tree  !  and  a  long  one  too !  that  will  make  ropes 
for  you,  and  thread  for  me.  Ah,  and  here  is  a 
cabbage.  Poor  Mr.  Welch  !  Well,  for  one  thing, 
you  need  never  saw  nor  climb  any  more.  See 
the  advantages  of  a  hurricane." 

From  the  wood  she  took  him  to  the  shore,  and 
there  they  found  many  birds  lying  dead  ;  and 
Hazel  picked  up  several  that  he  had  read  of  as 
good  to  eat.  For  certain  signs  had  convinced 
him  his  fair  and  delicate  companion  was  carniv- 
ora,  and  must  be  nourished  accordingly.  See- 
ing him  so  employed,  she  asked  him  archly 
whether  he  was  beginning  to  see  the  comforts  of 
a  hurricane.  "  Not  yet,"  said  he  ;  "  the  account 
is  far  from  even." 

"  Then  come  to  where  the  rock  was  blown 
down."  She  led  the  way  gayly  across  the  sands 
to  a  point  where  an  overhanging  crag  had  fallen, 
with  two  trees  and  a  quantity  of  earth  and  plants 
that  grew  above  it.  But,  when  they  got  nearer, 
she  became  suddenly  grave,  and  stood  still.  The 
mass  had  fallen  upon  a  sheltered  place,  where 
seals  where  hiding  from  the  wind,  and  had  buried 
several ;  for  two  or  three  limbs  were  sticking  out, 
of  victims  overwhelmed  in  the  ruin  ;  and  a  mag- 
nificent sea-lion  lay  clear  of  the  smaller  rubbish, 
but  quite  dead.  The  cause  was  not  far  to  seek  : 
a  ton  of  hard  rock  had  struck  him,  and  then 
ploughed  up  the  sand  in  a  deep  furrow,  and  now 
rested  within  a  yard  or  two  of  the  animal,  whose 
back  it  had  broken.  Hazel  went  up  to  the  crea- 
ture and  looked  at  it :  then  he  came  to  Helen ; 
sho  was  standing  aloof.     "Poor  bugbear,"  said 


he.  "  Come  away :  it  is  an  ugly  sight  for 
you." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Helen.  Then,  as  they  return- 
ed, "Does  not  that  reconcile  you  to  the  loss  of  a 
hut  ?     We  are  not  blown  away  nor  crushed." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Hazel;  "but  suppose 
your  health  should  suffer  from  the  exposure  to 
such  fearful  weather.  So  unlucky  !  so  cruel ! 
just  as  you  were  beginning  to  get  stronger." 

"I  am  all  the  better  for  it.  Shall  I  tell  you? 
excitement  is  a  good  thing ;  not  too  often,  of 
course ;  but  now  and  then  ;  and,  when  we  are 
in  the  humor  for  it,  it  is  meat  and  drink  and 
medicine  to  us." 

"What !  to  a  delicate  young  lady ?" 

"  Ay,  '  to  a  delicate  young  lady.'  Last  night 
has  done  me  a  world  of  good.  It  has  shaken  me 
out  of  myself.  I  am  in  better  health  and  spirits. 
Of  course  I  am  very  sorry  the  hut  is  blown  down, 
— because  you  took  so  much  trouble  to  build  it : 
but,  on  my  own  account,  I  really  don't  care  a  straw. 
Find  me  some  corner  to  nestle  in  at  night,  and 
all  day  I  mean  to  be  about,  and  busy  as  a  bee, 
helping  you,  and —  Breakfast !  breakfast !  Oh, 
how  hungry  I  am."  And  this  spirited  girl  led 
the  way  to  the  boat  with  a  briskness  and  a  vigor 
that  charmed  and  astonished  him. 

Souvent  femme  varie. 

This  gracious  behavior  did  not  blind  Hazel  to 
the  serious  character  of  the  situation,  and  all 
breakfast-time  he  was  thinking  and  thinking,  and 
often  kept  a  morsel  in  his  mouth,  and  forgot  to 
eat  it  for  several  seconds,  he  was  so  anxious  and 
puzzled.  At  last  he  said,  "  I  know  a  large  hol- 
low tree  with  apertures.  If  I  were  to  close  them 
all  but  one,  and  keep  that  for  the  door  ?  No  : 
trees  have  betrayed  me  ;  I'll  never  trust  another 
tree  with  you.  Stay ;  I  know — I  know —  a  cav- 
ern." He  uttered  the  verb  rather  loudly,  but  the 
substantive  with  a  sudden  feebleness  of  intonation 
that  was  amusing.  His  timidity  was  superflu- 
ous;  if  he  had  said  he  knew  "a  bank  whereon 
the  wild  thyme  grows,"  the  suggestion  would  have 
been  well  received  that  morning. 

"A  cavern!"  cried  Helen.  "It  has  always 
been  the  dream  of  my  life  to  live  in  a  cavern." 

Hazel  brightened  up.  But  the  next  moment 
he  clouded  again.  "But  I  forgot.  It  will  not 
do ;  there  is  a  spring  running  right  through  it ; 
it  comes  down  nearly  perpendicular  through  a 
channel  it  has  bored,  or  enlarged  ;  and  splashes 
on  the  floor." 

"  How  convenient !"  said  Helen;  "now  I 
shall  have  a  bath  in  my  room,  instead  of  having 
to  go  miles  for  it.  By-the-by,  now  you  have  in- 
vented the  shower-bath,  please  discover  Soap. 
Not  that  one  really  wants  any  in  this  island ;  for 
there  is  no  dust,  and  the  very  air  seems  purify- 
ing. But  who  can  shake  off  the  prejudices  of 
early  education  ?" 

Hazel  said,  "Now  I'll  laugh  as  much  as  you 
like,  when  once  this  care  is  off  my  mind." 

He  ran  off  to  the  cavern,  and  found  it  spacious 
and  safe  ;  but  the  spring  was  falling  in  great 
force,  and  the  roof  of  the  cave  glistened  with 
moisture.  It  looked  a  hopeless  case.  But  if 
Necessity  is  the  mother  of  Invention,  surely  Love 
is  the  father.  He  mounted  to  the  rock  above, 
and  found  the  spot  where  the  spring  suddenly  de- 
scended into  the  earth  with  the  loudest  gurgle  he 
had  ever  heard  ;  a  gurgle  of  defiance.     Nothing 


FOUL  PLAY. 


70 


was  to  be  done  there.  But  he  traced  it  upward  a 
little  way,  and  found  a  place  where  it  ran  beside  a 
deep  decline.  "Aha,  my  friend ! "  said  he.  He  got 
his  spade,  and  with  some  hours'  hard  work  dug  it 
a  fresh  channel,  and  carried  it  away  entirely  from 
its  course.  He  returned  to  the  cavern.  Water  was 
dripping  very  fast;  but,  on  looking  up,  hecouldsee 
the  light  of  day  twinkling  at  the  top  of  the  spiral 
water-course  he  had  robbed  of  its  supply.  Then 
he  conceived  a  truly  original  idea  :  why  not  turn 
his  empty  water-course  into  a  chimney,  and  so 
give  to  one  element  what  he  had  taken  from  an- 
other ?  He  had  no  time  to  execute  this  just  then, 
for  the  tide  was  coming  in,  and  he  could  not 
afford  to  lose  any  one  of  those  dead  animals. 
So  he  left  the  funnel  to  drip,  that  being  a  process 
he  had  no  means  of  expediting,  and  moored  the 
sea-lion  to  the  very  rock  that  had  killed  him, 
and  was  proceeding  to  dig  out  the  seals,  when 
a  voice  he  never  could  hear  without  a  thrill  sum- 
moned him  to  dinner. 

It  was  a  plentiful  repast,  and  included  roast 
pintado  and  cabbage- palm.  Helen  Rolleston 
informed  him  during  dinner  that  he  would  no 
longer  be  allowed  to  monopolize  the  labor  attend- 
ant upon  their  condition. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  you  are  always  working  for 
me,  and  I  shall  work  for  you.  Cooking  and 
washing  are  a  woman's  work,  not  a  man's;  and 
so  are  plaiting  and  netting." 

This  healthy  resolution  once  formed  was  ad- 
hered to  with  a  constancy  that  belonged  to  the 
girl's  character.  The  roof  of  the  ruined  hut 
came  ashore  in  the  bay  that  evening,  and  was 
fastened  over  the  boat.  Hazel  lighted  a  bonfire 
in  the  cavern,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
some  of  the  smoke  issuing  above.  But  he  would 
not  let  Miss  Rolleston  occupy  it  yet.  He  shifted 
her  things  to  the  boat,  and  slept  in  the  cave  him- 
self. However,  he  lost  no  time  in  laying  down 
a  great  hearth,  and  built  a  fire-place  and  chim- 
ney in  the  cave.  The  chimney  went  up  to  the 
hole  in  the  arch  of  the  cave ;  then  came  the  stone 
funnel,  stolen  from  Nature ;  and  above,  on  the 
upper  surface  of  the  cliff,  came  the  chimney-pot. 
Thus  the  chimney  acted  like  a  German  stove  :  it 
stood  in  the  centre,  and  soon  made  the  cavern 
very  dry  and  warm,  and  a  fine  retreat  during 
the  rains.  When  it  was  ready  for  occupation, 
Helen  said  she  would  sail  to  it :  she  would  not 
go  by  land  ;  that  was  too  tame  for  her.  Hazel 
had  only  to  comply  with  her  humor,  and  at  high 
water  they  got  into  the  boat,  and  went  down  the 
river  into  the  sea  with  a  rush  that  made  Helen 
wince.  He  soon  rowed  her  across  the  bay  to  a 
point  distant  not  more  than  fifty  yards  from  the 
cavern,  and  installed  her.  But  he  never  return- 
ed to  the  river ;  it  was  an  inconvenient  place  to 
make  excursions  from ;  and,  besides,  all  his  work 
was  now  either  in  or  about  the  cavern  ;  and  that 
convenient  hurricane,  as  Helen  called  it,  not  only 
made  him  a  builder  again ;  it  also  made  him 
a  currier,  a  soap-boiler  and  a  salter.  So  they 
drew  the  boat  just  above  high-water  mark  in  a 
sheltered  nook,  and  he  set  up  his  arsenal  ashore. 

In  this  situation,  day  glided  by  after  day,  and 
week  after  week,  in  vigorous  occupations,  bright- 
ened by  social  intercourse,  and  in  some  degree 
by  the  beauty  and  the  friendship  of  the  animals. 
Of  all  this  industry  we  can  only  afford  a  brief 
summary.  Hazel  fixed  two  uprights  at  each 
side  of  the  cavern's  mouth,  and  connected  each 


pair  by  a  beam  ;  a  netting  laid  on  these,  and 
covered  with  gigantic  leaves  from  the  prostrate 
palms,  made  a  sufficient  roof  in  this  sheltered 
spot.  On  this  terrace  they  could  sit  even  in  the 
rain,  and  view  the  sea.  Helen  cooked  in  the 
cave,  but  served  dinner  up  on  this  beautiful  ter- 
race. So  now  she  had  a  But  and  a  Ben,  as  the 
Scotch  say.  He  got  a  hogshead  of  oil  from  the 
«ea-lion  ;  and  so  the  cave  was  always  lighted  now, 
and  that  was  a  great  comfort,  and  gave  them 
more  hours  of  in-door  employment  and  conversa- 
tion. Thepoov  bugbear  really  brightened  their 
existence.  Of  the  same  oil,  boiled  down  and 
mixed  with  wood-ashes,  he  made  soap,  to  Hel- 
en's great  delight.  The  hide  of  this  animal  was 
so  thick  he  could  do  nothing  with  it  but  cut  off 
pieces  to  make  the  soles  of  shoes  if  required. 
But  the  seals  were  miscellaneous  treasures ;  he 
contrived  with  guano  and  aromatics  to  curry 
their  skins ;  of  their  bladders  he  made  vile  parch- 
ment, and  of  their  entrails  gut,  catgut,  and 
twine,  beyond  compare.  He  salted  two  cubs, 
and  laid  up  the  rest  in  store,  by  inclosing  large 
pieces  in  clay.  When  these  were  to  be  used, 
the  clay  was  just  put  into  hot  embers  for  some 
hours,  then  broken,  and  the  meat  eaten  with  all 
its  juices  preserved. 

Helen  cooked  and  washed,  and  manufactured 
salt ;  and  collected  quite  a  store  of  wild  cotton, 
though  jt  grew  very  sparingly,  and  it  cost  her 
hours  to  find  a  few  pods.  But  in  hunting  for  it 
she  found  other  things — health  for  one.  After 
sunset  she  was  generally  employed  a  couple  of 
hours  on  matters  which  occupy  the  fair  in  every 
situation  of  life.  She  made  herself  a  seal-skin 
jacket  and  pork-pie  hat.  She  made  Mr.  Hazel 
a  man's  cap  of  seal-skin  with  a  point.  But  her 
great  work  was  with  the  cotton,  which  will  be 
described  hereafter. 

However,  for  two  hours  aftet  sunset,  no  more 
(they  rose  at  peep  of  day),  her  physician  allowed 
her  to  sit  and  work ;  which  she  did,  and  often 
smiled,  while  he  sat  by  and  discoursed  to  her  of 
all  the  things  he  had  read,  and  surprised  himself 
by  the  strength  and  activity  of  his  memory.  He 
attributed  it  partly  to  the  air  of  the  island.  Nor 
were  his  fingers  idle  even  at  night.  He  had  tools 
to  sharpen  for  the  morrow,  glass  to  make  and 
polish  out  of  a  laminated  crystal  he  had  found. 
And  then  the  hurricane  had  blown  away, 
among  many  properties,  his  map  ;  so  he  had  to 
make  another  with  similar  materials.  He  com- 
pleted the  map  in  due  course,  and  gave  it  to  Hel- 
en. It  was  open  to  the  same  strictures  she  had 
passed  on  the  other.  Hazel  was  no  chartogra- 
pher.  Yet  this  time  she  had  nothing  but  praise 
for  it.     How  was  that  ? 

To  the  reader  it  now  presented,  not  as  a  spe- 
cimen of  chartographic  art,  but  as  a  little  curi- 
osity in  its  way,  being  a  fac-simile  of  the  map 
John  Hazel  drew  for  Helen  Rolleston  with  such 
out-of-the-way  materials  as  that  out-of-the-way 
island  afforded.  Above  all,  it  will  enable  the 
reader  to  follow  our  personages  in  their  little  ex- 
cursions past  and  future,  and  also  to  trace  the 
course  of  a  mysterious  event  we  have  to  record. 

Relieved  of  other  immediate  cares,  Hazel's 
mind  had  time  to  dwell  upon  the  problem  Hel- 
en had  set  him ;  and  one  fine  day  a  conviction 
struck  him  that  he  had  taken  a  narrow  and  puc- 


so 


FOUL  PLAY. 


rile  view  of  it,  and  that,  after  all,  there  must  be 
in  the  nature  of  things  some  way  to  attract  ships 
from  a  distance.  Possessed  with  this  thought, 
he  went  up  to  Telegraph  Point,  abstracted  his 
mind  from  all  external  -objects,  and  fixed  it  on 
this  idea, — but  came  down  as  he  went.  He  de- 
scended by  some  steps  he  had  cut  zigzag  for  Hel- 
en's use,  and  as  he  put  his  foot  on  the  fifth  step, 
— whoo — whir — whiz — came  nine    ducks,  cool-4 


ing  his  head,  they  whizzed  so  close;  and  made 
right  for  the  lagoons. 

"  Hum  !"  thought  Hazel ;  "I  never  see  you 
ducks  fly  in  any  other  direction  but  that." 

This  speculation  rankled  in  him  all  night,  and 
he  told  Helen  he  should  reconnoitre  at  day- 
break, but  should  not  take  her,  as  there  might  be 
snakes.  He  made  the  boat  ready  at  daybreak, 
and  certain  gannets,  pintadoes,  boobies,  and  nod- 


dies, and  divers  with  eyes  in  their  heads  like  fiery 
jewels, — birds  whose  greedy  maws  he  had  often 
gratified, — chose  to  fancy  he  must  be  going  a 
fishing,  and  were  on  the  alert,  and  rather  trouble- 
some. However,  he  got  adrift,  and  ran  out 
through  North  Gate  with  a  light  westerly  breeze, 
followed  by  a  whole  fleet  of  birds.  These  were 
joined  in  due  course  by  another  of  his  satellites, 
a  young  seal  he  called  Tommy,also  fond  of  fishing. 
The  feathered  convoy  soon  tailed  off;    but 


Tommy  stuck  to  him  for  about  eight  miles.  He 
ran  that  distance  to  have  a  nearer  look  at  a  small 
island  which  lay  due  north  of  Telegraph  Point. 
i  He  satisfied  himself  it  was  little  more  than  a 
very  long,  large  reef,  the  neighborhood  of  which 
ought  to  be  avoided  by  ships  of  burden,  and,  re- 
solving to  set  some  beacon  or  other  on  it  ere  long, 
he  christened  it  White  Water  Island,  on  account 
of  the  surf:  he  came  about  and  headed  for  the 
East  Bluff. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


81 


Then  Tommy  gave  him  up  in  disgust ;  per- 
haps thought  his  conduct  vacillating.  Animals 
all  despise  th  xt. 

He  soon  landed  almost  under  the  volcano,  and 
moored  his  beat  not  far  from  a  cliff  peaked  with 
guano.  Exercising  due  caution  this  time,  he 
got  up  to  the  lagoons,  and  found  a  great  many 
ducks  swimming  about.  He  approached  little 
parties  to  examine  their  varieties.  They  all 
swam  out  of  his  way  ;  some  of  them  even  flew 
a  few  yards,  and  then  settled.  Not  one  would 
let  him  come  within  forty  yards.  This  convinced 
Hazel  the  ducks  were  not  natives  of  the  island, 
but  strangers,  who  were  not  much  afraid,  be- 
cause they  had  never  been  molested  on  this  par- 
ticular island  ;  but  still  distrusted  man. 

While  he  pondered  thus,  there  was  a  great 
noise  of  wings,  and  about  a  dozen  ducks  flew  over 
his  head  on  the  rise,  and  passed  westward  still 
rising  till  they  got  into  the  high  currents,  and 
away  upon  the  wings  of  the  wind  for  distant  lands. 

The  grand  rush  of  their  wings,  and  the  off-hand 
way  in  which  they  spurned,  abandoned,  and  dis- 
appeared from  an  island  that  held  him  tight, 
made  Hazel  feel  very  small.  His  thoughts  took 
the  form  of  Satire.  "  Lords  of  the  creation,  are 
we  ?  We  sink  in  water ;  in  air  we  tumble  ;  on 
earth  we  stumble." 

These  pleasing  reflections  did  not  prevent  his 
taking  their  exact  line  of  flight,  and  barking  a 
tree  to  mark  it.  He  was  about  to  leave  the  place, 
when  he  heard  a  splashing  not  far  from  him,  and 
there  was  a  duck  jumping  about  on  the  water  in 
a  strange  way.  Hazel  thought  a  snake  had  got 
hold  of  her,  and  ran  to  her  assistance.  He  took 
her  out  of  the  water  and  soon  found  what  was 
the  matter ;  her  bill  was  open,  and  a  fish's  tail 
was  sticking  out.  Hazel  inserted  his  finger  and 
dragged  out  a  small  fish  which  had  erected  the 
spines  on  its  back  so  opportunely  as  nearly  to  kill 
its  destroyer.  The  duck  recovered  enough  to 
quack  in  a  feeble  and  dubious  manner.  Hazel 
kept  her  for  Helen,  because  she  was  a  plain  brown 
duck.  With  some  little  reluctance  he  slightly 
shortened  one  wing,  and  stowed  away  his  captive 
in  the  hold  of  the  boat. 

He  happened  to  have  a  great  stock  of  pitch 
in  the  boat,  so  he  employed  a  few  hours  in  writing 
upon  the  guano  rocks.  On  one  he  wrote  in  huge 
letters : — 

AN    ENGLISH     LADY    WRECKED     HERE.         HASTE 
TO  HER  RESCUE. 

On  another  he  wrote  in  small  letters  : — 

BEWARE  THE  REEFS  ON  THE  NORTH  SIDE. 
LIE  OFF  FOR  SIGNALS. 

Then  he  came  home  and  beached  the  boat,  and  , 
brought  Helen  his  captive. 

11  Why  it  is  an  English  duck  ! "  she  cried,  and 
was  enraptured. 

By  this  visit  to  the  lagoons,  Hazel  gathered 
that  this  island  was  a  half-way  house  for  migrat- 
ing birds,  especially  ducks  ;  and  he  inferred  that 
the  line  those  vagrants  had  taken  was  the  short-  I 
est  way  from  this  island  to  the  nearest  land. 
This  was  worth  knowing,  and  set  his  brain  work-  ' 
ing.     He  begged  Helen  to  watch  for  the  return  \ 
of  the  turtle-doves  (they  had  all  left  the  island  ! 
just  before  the  rain)  and  learn,  if  possible,  from  i 
what  point  of  the  compass  they  arrived. 

The  next  expedition  was  undertaken  to  please 
G 


Helen ;  she  wished  to  examine  the  beautiful 
creeks  and  caves  on  the  north  side,  which  they 
had  seen  from  a  distance  when  they  sailed  round 
the  island. 

They  started  on  foot  one  delightful  day,  and 
walked  briskly,  for  the  air,  though  balmy,  was 
exhilarating.  They  followed  the  course  of  the 
river  till  they  came  to  the  lake  that  fed  it,  and 
was  fed  itself  by  hundreds  of  little  natural  gutters 
down  which  the  hills  discharged  the  rains.  This 
was  new  to  Helen,  though  not  to  Hazel :  she 
produced  the  map,  and  told  the  lake  slyly  that 
it  was  incorrect,  a  little  too  big.  She  took  some 
of  the  water  in  her  hand,  sprinkled  the  lake  with 
it,  and  called  it  Hazelmere.  They  bore  a  little 
to  the  right,  and  proceeded  till  they  found  a  creek 
shaped  like  a  wedge,  at  whose  broad  end  shone 
an  arch  of  foliage  studded  with  flowers,  and  the 
sparkling  blue  water  peeped  behind.  This  was 
tempting,  but  the  descent  was  rather  hazardous 
at  first ;  great  square  blocks  of  rock,  one  below 
another,  and  these  rude  steps  were  coated  with 
mosses  of  rich  hue,  but  wet  and  slippery  ;  Hazel 
began  to  be  alarmed  for  his  companion.  How- 
ever, after  one  or  two  difficulties,  the  fissure  open- 
ed wider  to  the  sun,  and  they  descended  from  the 
slimy  rocks  into  a  sloping  hot-bed  of  exotic  flowers, 
and  those  huge  succulent  leaves  that  are  the 
glory  of  the  tropics.  The  ground  was  carpeted 
a  yard  deep  witn  their  luxuriance,  and  others, 
more  aspiring,  climbed  the  warm  sides  of  the  di- 
verging cliffs,  just  as  creepers  go  up  a  wall,  lining 
every  crevice  as  they  rose.  In  this  blessed  spot, 
warmed,  yet  not  scorched,  by  the  tropical  sun, 
and  fed  with  trickling  waters,  was  seen  what  mar- 
vels "  boon  Nature  "  can  do.  Here  our  vegeta- 
ble dwarfs  were  giants,  and  ourflowers  were  trees. 
One  lovely  giantess  of  the  jasmine  tribe,  but  with 
flowers  shaped  liked  a  marigold,  and  scented 
like  a  tuberose,  had  a  stem  as  thick  as  a  poplar, 
and  carried  its  thousand  buds  and  amber-color- 
ed flowers  up  eighty  feet  of  broken  rock,  and 
planted  on  every  ledge  suckers,  that  flowered 
again,  and  filled  the  air  with  perfume.  Another 
tree  about  half  as  high  was  covered  with  a  cas- 
cade of  snow-white  tulips,  each  as  big  as  a  small 
flower-pot,  and  scented  like  honeysuckle.  An 
aloe,  ten  feet  high,  blossomed  in  a  corner,  un- 
heeded among  loftier  beauties.  And  at  the  very 
mouth  of  the  fissure  a  huge  banana  leaned  across, 
and  flung  out  its  vast  leaves,  that  seemed  trans- 
lucent gold  against  the  sun ;  under  it  shone  a 
monstrous  cactus  in  all  her  pink  and  crimson 
glory,  and  through  the  maze  of  color  streamed 
the  deep  blue  of  the  peaceful  ocean,  laughing, 
and  catching  sunbeams. 

Helen  leaned  against  the  cliff  and  quivered 
with  delight,  and  that  deep  sense  of  flowers  that 
belongs  to  your  true  woman. 

Hazel  feared  she  was  ill. 

"III?"  said  she.  "Who  could  be  ill  here? 
It  is  heaven  upon  earth.  Oh,  you  dears !  Oh,  you 
loves!  And  they  all  seemed  growing  on  the 
sea,  and  floating  in  the  sun." 

"And  it  is  only  one  of  a  dozen  such,"  said 
Hazel.  "If  you  would  like  to  inspect  them  at 
your  leisure,  I'll  just  run  to  Palm-tree  Point ;  for 
my  signal  is  all  askew.  I  saw  that  as  we  came 
along." 

Helen  assented  readily,  and  he  ran  off;  but 
left  her  the  provisions.  She  was  not  to  wait  din- 
ner for  him. 


82 


FOUL  PLAY. 


Helen  examined  two  or  three  of  the  flowery 
fissures,  and  found  fresh  beauties  in  each,  and 
also  some  English  leaves,  that  gave  her  pleasure 
of  another  kind ;  and,  after  she  had  revelled  in  the 
flowers,  she  examined  the  shore,  and  soon  discov- 
ered that  the  rocks  which  abounded  here  (though 
there  were  also  large  patches  of  clear  sand)  were 
nearly  all  pure  coral,  in  great  variety.  Red 
coral  was  abundant;  and  even  the  pink  coral, 
to  which  fashion  was  just  then  giving  a  fictitious 
value,  was  there  by  the  ton.  This  interested 
her,  and  so  did  some  beautiful  shells  that  lay 
sparkling.  The  time  passed  swiftly;  and  she 
was  still  busy  in  her  researches,  when  suddenly 
it  darkened  a  little,  and,  looking  back,  she  saw 
a  white  vapor  stealing  over  the  cliff,  and  curling 
down. 

Upon  this  she  thought  it  prudent  to  return  to 
the  place  where  Hazel  had  left  her ;  the  more 
so  as  it  was  near  sunset. 

The  vapor  descended  and  spread  and  covered 
the  sea  and  land.  Then  the  sun  set :  and  it 
was  darkness  visible.  Coming  from  the  south, 
the  soa-fret  caught  Hazel  sooner  and  in  a  less  fa- 
vorable situation.  Returning  from  the  palm- 
tree,  he  had  taken  the  shortest  cut  through  a 
small  jungle,  and  been  so  impeded  by  the  scrub 
that,  when  he  got  clear,  the  fog  was  upon  him. 
Between  that  and  the  river  he  lost  his  way  sev- 
eral times,  and  did  not  hit  the  river  till  near 
midnight.  He  followed  the  river  to  the  lake, 
and  coasted  the  lake,  and  then  groped  his  way 
towards  the  creek.  But,  after  a  while,  every  step 
he  took  was  fraught  with  danger  ;  and  the  night 
was  far  advanced  when  he  at  last  hit  off  the 
creek,  as  he  thought.  He  hallooed  j  but  there 
was  no  reply;  hallooed  again,  and,  to  his  joy,  her 
voice  replied;  but  at  a  distance.  He  had  come 
to  the  wrong  creek.  She  was  farther  westward. 
He  groped  his  way  westward,  and  came  to  an- 
other creek.  He  hallooed  to  her,  and  she  answer- 
ed him.  But  to  attempt  the  descent  would  have 
been  mere  suicide.  She  felt  that  herself,  and  al- 
most ordered  him  to  stay  where  he  was. 

"Why,  wc  can  talk  all  the  same,"  said  she, 
"and  it  is  not  for  long." 

It  was  a  curious  position,  and  one  typical  of 
the  relation  between  them.  So  near  together, 
yet  the  barrier  so  strong. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  be  very  cold,"  said  he. 

"  Oh  no ;  I  have  my  seal-skin  jacket  on ;  and 
it  is  so  sheltered  here.  I  wish  you  were  as  well 
off." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  to  be  alone  down  there  ?" 

"  I  am  not  alone  when  your  voice  is  near  me. 
Now  don't  you  fidget  yourself,  dear  friend.  I 
like  these  little  excitements.  I  have  told  you  so 
before.  Listen  :  how  calm  and  silent  it  all  is ; 
the  place  ;  the  night !  The  mind  seems  to  fill 
with  great  ideas,  and  to  feel  its  immortality." 

She  spoke  with  solemnity,  and  he  heard  in  si- 
lence. 

Indeed  it  was  a  reverend  time  and  place  :  the 
sea,  whose  loud  and  penetrating  tongue  had,  in 
some  former  age,  created  the  gully  where  they 
both  sat  apart,  had  of  late  years  receded,  and 
kissed  the  sands  gently  that  calm  night :  so  gen- 
tly, that  its  long,  low  murmur  seemed  the  echo  of 
tranquillity." 

The  voices  of  that  pair  sounded  supernatural, 
one  speaking  up,  and  the  other  down,  and  the 
speakers  quite  invisible. 


"Mr.  Hazel,"  said  Helen  in  a  low,  earnest 
voice  ;  "  they  say  that  night  gives  wisdom  even 
to  the  wise ;  think  now,  and  tell  me  your  true 
thoughts.  Has  the  foot  of  man  ever  trod  upon 
this  island  before  ?" 

There  was  a  silence  due  to  a  question  so  grave, 
and  put  with  solemnity,  at  a  solemn  time,  in  a 
solemn  place. 

At  last  Hazel's  thoughtful  voice  came  down. 
"The  world  is  very,  very,  very  old.  So  old, 
that  the  words  'Ancient  History'  are  a  false- 
hood, and  Moses  wrote  but  as  yesterday.  And 
man  is  a  very  old  animal  upon  this  old,  old  plan- 
et; and  has  been  everywhere.  I  can  not  doubt 
he  has  been  here." 

Her  voice  went  up.  "  But  have  you  seen  any 
signs?" 

His  voice  came  down.  "I  have  not  looked 
for  them.  The  bones  and  the  weapons  of  prime- 
val man  are  all  below  earth's  surface  at  this  time 
of  day." 

There  was  a  dead  silence.  Then  Helen's  voice 
went  up  again.  "But  in  modern  times?  Has 
no  man  landed  here  from  far-off  places,  since 
ships  were  built  ?" 

The  voice  came  sadly  down.  "I  do  not 
know." 

The  voice  went  up.     "  But  think!" 

The  voice  came  down.  "  What  calamity  can 
be  new  in  a  world  so  old  as  this  ?  Every  thing 
we  can  do,  and  suffer,  others  of  our  race  have 
done,  and  suffered." 

The  voice  went  up.  "Hush!  there's  some- 
thing moving  on  the  sand." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Hazel  waited  and  listened.  So  did  Helen, 
and  her  breath  came  fast ;  for  in  the  stilly  night 
she  heard  light  but  mysterious  sounds.  Some- 
thing was  moving  on  the  sand  very  slowly  and 
softly,  but  nearer  and  nearer.  Her  heart  be- 
gan to  leap.  She  put  out  her  hand  instinctively 
to  clutch  Mr.  Hazel ;  but  he  was  too  far  off. 
She  had  the  presence  of  mind  and  the  self-denial 
to  disguise  her  fears ;  for  she  knew  he  would 
come  headlong  to  her  assistance. 

She  said  in  a  quivering  whisper,  "I'm  not 
frightened;  only  v — very  c — curious." 

And  now  she  became  conscious  that  not  only 
one  but  several  things  were  creeping  about. 

Presently  the  creeping  ceased,  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  louder  and  more  mysterious  noise. 
In  that  silent  night  it  sounded  like  raking  and 
digging.  Three  or  four  mysterious  visitants 
seemed  to  be  making  graves. 

This  was  too  much ;  especially  coming  as  it 
did  after  talk  about  the  primeval  dead.  Her 
desire  to  scream  was  so  strong,  and  she  was  so 
afraid  Hazel  would  break  his  neck  if  she  re- 
lieved her  mind  in  that  way,  that  she  actually 
took  her  handkerchief  and  bit  it  hard. 

But  this  situation  was  cut  short  by  a  benefi- 
cent luminary.  The  sun  rose  with  a  magnifi- 
cent bound, — it  was  his  way  in  that  latitude, — 
and  every  thing  unpleasant  winced  that  moment ; 
the  fog  shivered  in  its  turn,  and  appeared  to 
open  in  furrows  as  great  javelins  of  golden 
light  shot  through  it  from  the  swiftly  rising  orb. 
Soon  those  golden  darts  increased  to  streams  of 


FOUL  PLAY. 


83 


portable  fire,  that  burst  the  fog  and  illumined 
the  wet  sands;  and  Helen  burst  out  laughing 
like  a  chanticleer,  for  this  first  break  of  day  re- 
vealed the  sextons  that  had  scared  her, — three 
ponderous  turtles,  crawling,  slow  and  clumsy, 
back  to  sea.  Hazel  joined  her,  and  they  soon 
found  what  these  evil  spirits  of  the  island  had 
been  at,  poor  wretches.  They  had  each  buried 
a  dozen  eggs  in  the  sand :  one  dozen  of  which 
were  very  soon  set  boiling.  At  first,  indeed, 
Helen  objected  that  they  had  no  shells,  but 
Hazel  told  her  she  might  as  well  complain  of  a 
rose  without  a  thorn.  He  assured  her  turtles' 
eggs  were  a  known  delicacy,  and  very  superior 
to  birds'  eggs ;  and  so  she  found  them  ;  they 
were  eaten  with  the  keenest  relish. 

"And  now,"  said  Helen,  "for  my  discover- 
ies. First,  here  are  my  English  leaves,  only 
bigger.     I  found  them  on  a  large  tree." 

"English  leaves!"  cried  Hazel,  with  rapture. 
"  "Why,  it  is  the  caoutchouc !" 

"Oh  dear,"  said  Helen,  disappointed;  "I 
took  it  for  the  India-rubber  tree." 

"It  is  the  India-rubber  tree;  and  I  have 
been  hunting  for  it  all  over  the  island  in  vain, 
and  using  wretchedly  inferior  gums  for  want 
of  it." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  said  Helen.  "And  now  I 
have  something  else  to  show  you :  something 
that  curdled  my  blood;  but  I  dare  say  I  was 
very  foolish."  She  then  took  him  half  across 
the  sand  and  pointed  out  to  him  a  number  of 
stones  dotted  over  the  sand  in  a  sort  of  oval. 
These  stones,  streaked  with  sea  grass,  and  in- 
crusted  with  small  shells,  were  not  at  equal 
distances,  but  yet,  allowing  for  gaps,  they  form- 
ed a  decided  figure.  Their  outlines  resembled 
a  great  fish,  wanting  the  tail. 


"Can  this  be  chance?"  asked  Helen;  "oh, 
if  it  should  be  what  I  fear,  and  that  is — 
Savages  !" 

Hazel  considered  it  attentively  a  long  time. 
"Too  far  at  sea  for  living  savages,"  said  he. 
"And  yet  it  can  not  be  chance.  What  on  earth 
is  it?  It  looks  Druidical.  But  how  can  that 
be?  The  island  was  smaller  when  these  were 
placed  here  than  it  is  now."  He  went  nearer 
and  examined  one  of  the  stones ;  then  he  scraped 
away  the  sand  from  its  base,  and  found  it  was  not 
shaped  like  a  stone,  but  more  like  a  whale's  rib. 
He  became  excited ;  went  on  his  knees,  and 
tore  the  sand  up  with  his  hands.  Then  he  rose 
up  agitated,  and  traced  the  outline  again. 
"  Great  Heaven  !"  said  he,  "why,  it  is  a  ship." 

"A  ship!" 

"  Ay,"  said  he,  standing  in  the  middle  of  it ; 
"  here,  beneath  our  feet,  lies  man ;  with  his 
work,  and  his  treasures.  This  carcass  has  been 
here  for  many  a  long  year ;  not  so  very  long, 
neither  ;  she  is  too  big  for  the  16th  century, 
and  yet  she  must  have  been  sunk  when  the 
island  was  smaller.  I  take  it  to  be  a  Spanish 
or  Portuguese  ship ;  probably  one  of  those 
treasure-ships  our  commodores,   and  chartered 


pirates,  and  the  American  buccaneers,  used  to 
chase  about  these  seas.  Here  lie  her  bones, 
and  the  bones  of  her  crew.  Your  question  was 
soon  answered.  All  that  we  can  say  has  been 
said ;  can  do  has  been  done ;  can  suffer  has 
been  suffered." 

They  were  silent,  and  the  sunk  ship's  bones 
moved  them  strangely.  In  their  deep  isolation 
from  the  human  race,  even  the  presence  of  the 
dead  brought  humanity  somehow  nearer  to 
them. 

They  walked  thoughtfully  away,  and  made 
across  the  sands  for  Telegraph  Point. 

Before  they  got  home,  Helen  suggested  that 
perhaps,  if  he  were  to  dig  in  the  ship,  he  might 
find  something  useful. 

He  shook  his  head.  "Impossible!  The  iron 
has  all  melted  away  like  sugar  long  before  this. 
Nothing  can  have  survived  but  gold  and  silver, 
and  they  are  not  worth  picking  up,  much  less 
digging  for  ;  my  time  is  too  precious.  No,  you 
have  found  two  buried  treasures  to-day, — turtles' 
eggs,  and  a  ship,  freighted,  as  I  think,  with  what 
men  call  the  precious  metals.  Well,  the  eggs 
are  gold,  and  the  gold  is  a  drug, — there  it  will  lie 
for  me." 

Both  discoveries  bore  fruits.  The  ship  :  Hazel 
made  a  vow  that  never  again  should  any  poor 
ship  lay  her  ribs  on  this  island  for  want  of  warn- 
ing. He  buoyed  the  reefs.  He  ran  out  to  White 
Water  Island,  and  wrote  an  earnest  warning  on 
the  black  reef,  and  this  time  he  wrote  with  white 
on  black.  He  wrote  a  similar  warning,  with 
black  on  white,  at  the  western  extremity  of  God- 
send Island. 

The  eggs :  Hazel  watched  for  the  turtles  at 
daybreak;  turned  one  now. and  then;  and  fed 
Helen  on  the  meat  or  its  eggs,  morn,  noon,  and 
night. 

For  some  time  she  had  been  advancing  in 
health  and  strength.  But  when  the  rains  de- 
clined considerably,  and  she  was  all  day  in  the 
air,  she  got  the  full  benefit  of  the  wonderful  cli- 
mate, and  her  health,  appetite,  and  muscular  vig- 
or became  truly  astonishing ;  especially  under 
what  Hazel  called  the  turtle  cure ;  though,  in- 
deed, she  was  cured  before.  She  ate  three  good 
meals  a  day,  and  needed  them  ;  for  she  was  up 
with  the  sun,  and  her  hands  and  feet  never  idle 
till  he  sat. 

Four  months  on  the  island  had  done  this. 
But  four  months  had  not  shown  those  straining 
eyes  the  white  speck  on  the  horizon  ;  the  sail, 
so  looked  and  longed  for. 

Hazel  often  walked  the  island  by  himself;  not 
to  explore,  for  he  knew  the  place  well  by  this 
time,  but  he  went  his  rounds  to  see  that  all  his 
signals  were  in  working  order. 

He  went  to  Mount  Lookout  one  day  with  this 
view.  It  was  about  an  hour  before  noon.  Long 
before  he  got  to  the  mountain  he  had  scanned 
the  horizon  carefully,  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  but 
not  a  speck.  So,  when  he  got  there,  he  did  not 
look  seaward,  but  just  saw  that  his  flagstaff  was 
all  right,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  and  go 

j.  home,  when  he  happened  to  glance  at  the  water  ; 

]  and  there,  underneath  him,  he  saw  —  a  ship  ; 

|  standing  towards  the  island. 


8-i 


FOUL  PLAY. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

He  started,  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked 
again.  It  was  no  delusion.  Things  never  did 
come  as  they  are  expected  to  come.  There  was 
still  no  doubtful  speck  on  the  horizon;  but  with- 
in eight  miles  of  the  island, — and,  in  this  lovely 
air,  that  looked  nearly  close, — was  a  ship,  under 
canvas.  She  bore  S.E.  from  Mount  Lookout,  and 
S.S.E.  from  the  East  Bluff  of  the  island,  towards 
which  her  course  was  apparently  directed.  She 
had  a  fair-  wind,  but  was  not  going  fast ;  being 
heavily  laden,  and  under  no  press  of  sail.  A 
keen  thrill  went  through  him ;  and  his  mind  was 
a  whirl.     He  ran  home  with  the  great  news. 

But,  even  as  he  ran,  a  cold  sickly  feeling 
crawled  over  him. 

"That  ship  parts  her  and  me." 

He  resisted  the  feeling  as  a  thing  too  mon- 
strous and  selfish,  and  resisted  it  so  fiercely,  that, 
when  he  got  to  the  slopes  and  saw  Helen  busy 
at  her  work,  he  waved  his  hat  and  hurrahed 
again  and  again,  and  seemed  almost  mad  with 
triumph. 

Helen  stood  transfixed,  she  had  never  seen  him 
in  such  a  state. 

"Good  news!"  he  cried;  "  great  news  !  A 
ship  in  sight  !     You  are  rescued  !" 

Her  heart  leaped  into  her  mouth. 

"Aship!"  she  screamed.   "Where?  Where?" 

He  came  up  to  her  panting. 

"  Close  under  the  island.  Hid  by  the  bluff; 
but  you  will  see  her  in  half  an  hour.  God  be 
praised !  Get  every  thing  ready  to  go.  Hurrah ! 
This  is  our  last  day  on  the  island." 

The  words  were  brave,  and  loud,  and  boister- 
ous, but  the  face  was  pale  and  drawn,  and  Helen 
saw  it,  and,  though  she  bustled  and  got  ready 
to  leave,  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes.  But  the 
event  was  too  great  to  be  resisted.  A  wild  ex- 
citement grew  on  them  both.  They  ran  about 
like  persons  crazed,  and  took  things  up,  and  laid 
them  down  again,  scarcely  knowing  what  they 
were  doing.  But  presently  they  were  sobered  a 
little,  for  the  ship  did  not  appear.  They  ran 
across  the  sands,  where  they  could  see  the  bluff, 
she  ought  to  have  passed  that  half  an  hour  ago. 

Hazel  thought  she  must  have  anchored. 

Helen  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"  Dear  friend, "  said  she,  "are  you  sure  there 
is  a  ship  at  all  ?  Are  you  not  under  a  delusion  ? 
This  island  fills  the  mind  with  fancies.  One  day 
I  thought  I  saw  a  ship  sailing  in  the  sky.  Ah  !" 
She  uttered  a  faint  scream,  for  while  she  was 
speaking  the  bowsprit  and  jib  of  a  vessel  glided 
past  the  bluff,  so  closely  they  seemed  to  scrape  it, 
and  a  ship  emerged  grandlv,  and  glided  along  the 
cliff. 

"Are  they  mad,"  cried  Hazel, "to  hug  the 
shore  like  that  ?  Ah !  they  have  seen  my  warn- 
ing." 

And  it  appeared  so,  for  the  ship  just  then  came 
up  in  the  wind  several  points,  and  left  the  bluff 
dead  astern. 

She  sailed  a  little  way  on  that  course  and 
then  paid  off  again,  and  seemed  inclined  to  range 
along  the  coast.  But  presently  she  was  up  in 
the  wind  again,  and  made  a  greater  offing.  She 
was  sailed  in  a  strange,  vacillating  way  ;  but  Ha- 
zel ascribed  this  to  her  people's  fear  of  the  reefs 
he  had  indicated  to  all  comers.  The  better  to 
watch  her  manoeuvres,  and  signal  her  if  necessarv, 


they  both  went  up  to  Telegraph  Point.  They 
could  not  go  out  to  her,  being  low  water.  Seen 
from  this  height,  the  working  of  this  vessel  was 
unaccountable.  She  was  to  and  off  the  wind  as 
often  as  if  she  was  drunk  herself,  or  commanded  by 
a  drunken  skipper.  However,  she  was  kept  well 
clear  of  the  home  reefs,  and  made  a  good  offing, 
and  so  at  last  she  opened  the  bay  heading  N.  W., 
and  distant  four  miles,  or  thereabouts.  Now  was 
the  time  to  drop  her  anchor.  So  Hazel  worked 
the  telegraph  to  draw  her  attention,  and  waved 
his  hat  and  hand  to  her.  But  the  ship  sailed  on. 
She  yawed  immensely,  but  she  kept  her  course; 
and,  when  she  had  gone  a  mile  or  two  more, 
the  sickening  truth  forced  itself  at  last  upon 
those  eager  watchers.  She  had  decided  not  to 
touch  at  the  island.  In  vain  their  joyful  sig- 
nals. In  vain  the  telegraph.  In  vain  that  cry 
for  help  upon  the  eastern  cliff:  it  had  saved  her, 
but  not  pleaded  for  them.  The  monsters  saw 
them  on  the  height, — their  hope,  their  joy, — saw 
and  abandoned  them. 

They  looked  at  one  another  with  dilating  eyes, 
to  read  in  a  human  face  whether  such  a  deed 
as  this  could  really  be  done  by  man  upon  his  fel- 
low. Then  they  uttered  wild  cries  to  the  reced- 
ing vessel. 

Vain,  vain,  all  was  in  vain. 

Then  they  sat  down  stupefied,  but  still  glar- 
ing at  the  ship,  and  each  at  the  same  moment 
held  out  a  hand  to  the  other,  and  they  sat  hand 
in  hand  all  the  world  to  each  other  just  then,  for 
there  was  the  world  in  sight  abandoning  them  in 
cold  blood. 

"  Be  calm,  dear  friend,"  said  Helen,  patiently. 
"  Oh,  my  poor  father!"  And  her  other  hand 
threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  then  came  a 
burst  of  anguish  that  no  words  could  utter. 

At  this  Hazel  started  to  his  feet  in  fury. 

"  Now  may  the  God  that  made  sea  and  land 
judge  between  those  miscreants  there  and 
you!" 

"Be  patient,"  said  Helen,  sobbing.  "  Oh,  be 
patient." 

"No!  I  will  not  be  patient,"  roared  Hazel 
"Judge  thou  her  cause,  O!  God  ;  each  of  these 
tears  against  a  reptile's  soul!" 

And  so  he  stood  glaring,  and  his  hair  blowing 
wildly  to  the  breeze;  while  she  sighed  patiently 
at  his  knee. 

Presently  he  began  to  watch  the  vessel  with  a 
grim  and  bitter  eye.  Anon  he  burst  out  sudden- 
ly, "Aha!  that  is  right.  Well  steered.  Don't 
cry,  sweet  one;  our  cause  is  heard.  Are  they 
blind?  Are  they  drunk?  Are  they  sick?  I 
see  nobody  on  deck !  Perhaps  I  have  been  too 
— God  forgive  me,  the  ship's  ashore!' 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Helen  looked  up ;  and  there  was  the  ship  fast, 
and  on  her  side.  She  was  on  the  White  Water 
Reef.  Not  upon  the  black  rocks  themselves,  but 
on  a  part  of  them  that  was  under  water. 

Hazel  ran  down  to  the  beach  ;  and  there  Helen 
found  him  greatly  agitated.  All  his  anger  was 
gone ;  he  had  but  one  thought  now, — to  go  out 
to  her  assistance.  But  it  still  wanted  an  hour 
to  high  water,  and  it  was  blowing  smartly,  and 
there  was  nearly  always  a  surf  upon  that  reef. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


85 


What  if  the  vessel  should  break  up,  and  lives 
be  lost  ? 

He  paced  the  sands  like  a  wild  beast  in  its 
•cage,  in  an  agony  of  pity,  remorse,  and  burning 
impatience.  His  feelings  became  intolerable ; 
he  set  his  back  to  the  boat,  and  with  herculean 
strength  forced  it  down  a  little  way  to  meet  the 
tide.  He  got  logs  and  put  them  down  for  roll- 
ers. He  strove,  he  strained,  he  struggled,  till 
his  face  and  hands  were  purple.  And  at  last 
he  met  the  flowing  tide,  and  in  a  moment  jump- 
ed into  the  boat,  and  pushed  off.  Helen  begged 
with  sparkling  eyes  to  be  allowed  to  accompany 
him. 

"  What,  to  a  ship  smitten  with  scurvy  or  Heav- 
en knows  what  ?  Certainly  not.  Besides,  you 
would  be  wet  through  :  it  is  blowing  rather  fresh, 
and  I  shall  carry  on.  Pray  for  the  poor  souls  I 
go  to  help ;  and  for  me,  who  have  sinned  in  my 
anger." 

He  hoisted  his  sail,  and  ran  out. 

Helen  stood  on  the  bank,  and  watched  him 
with  tender  admiration.  How  good  and  brave 
he  was !  And  he  could  go  into  a  passion  too, 
when  she  was  wronged,  or  when  he  thought  she 
was.  Well !  she  admired  him  none  the  less  for 
that.  She  watched  him  at  first  with  admiration, 
but  soon  with  anxiety;  for  he  had  no  sooner 
passed  North  Gate,  than  the  cutter,  having  both 
sails  set,  though  reefed,  lay  down  very  much,  and 
her  hull  kept  disappearing.  Helen  felt  anxious, 
and  would  have  been  downright  frightened,  but 
for  her  confidence  in  his  prowess. 

By-and-by  only  her  staggering  sails  were  visi- 
ble ;  and  the  sun  set  ere  she  reached  the  creek. 
The  wind  declined  with  the  sun,  and  Helen  made 
two  great  fires,  and  prepared  food  for  the  suf- 
ferers ;  for  she  made  sure  Hazel  would  bring 
them  off  in  a  few  hours  more.  She  promised 
herself  the  happiness  of  relieving  the  distressed. 
But  to  her  infinite  surprise  she  found  herself  al- 
most regretting  that  the  island  was  likely  to  be 
peopled  with  strangers.  No  matter,  she  should 
sit  up  for  them  all  night,  and  be  very  kind  to 
them,  poor  things ;  though  they  had  not  been 
very  kind  to  her. 

About  midnight  the  wind  shifted  to  the  north- 
west, and  blew  hard. 

Helen  ran  down  to  the  shore  and  looked  sea- 
ward. This  was  a  fair  wind  for  Hazel's  return  ; 
and  she  began  to  expect  him  every  hour.  But 
no ;  he  delayed  unaccountably. 

And  the  worst  of  it  was,  it  began  to  blow  a 
gale  ;  and  this  wind  sent  the  sea  rolling  into  the 
bay  in  a  manner  that  alarmed  her  seriously. 

The  night  wore  on  ;  no  signs  of  the  boat ;  and 
now  there  was  a  heavy  gale  outside,  and  a  great 
ea  rolling  in,  brown  and  foaming. 

Day  broke,  and  showed  the  sea  for  a  mile  or 
two  ;  the  rest  was  hidden  by  driving  rain. 

Helen  kneeled  on  the  shore  and  prayed  for  him. 

"Dire  misgivings  oppressed  her.  And  soon 
these  were  heightened  to  terror ;  for  the  sea  be- 
gan to  disgorge  things  of  a  kind  that  had  never 
come  ashore  before.  A  great  ship's  mast  came 
tossing  :  huge  as  it  was,  the  waves  handled  it 
like  a  toy.  Then  came  a  barrel ;  then  a  broken 
spar.  These  were  but  the  forerunners  of  more 
fearful  havoc. 

The  sea  became  strewed  and  literally  blacken- 
ed with  fragments  ;  part  wreck,  part  cargo,  of  a 
broken  vessel. 


But  what  was  all  this  compared  with  the  hor- 
ror that  followed  ? 

A  black  object  caught  her  eye  ;  driven  in  upon 
the  crest  of  the  wave. 

She  looked,  with  her  hair  flying  straight  back, 
and  her  eyes  almost  starting  from  her  head. 

It  was  a  boat,  bottom  up ;  driven  on,  and 
tossed  like  a  cork. 

It  came  nearer,  nearer,  nearer. 

She  dashed  into  the  water  with  a  wild  scream, 
but  a  wave  beat  her  backward  on  the  sand,  and, 
as  she  rose,  an  enormous  roller  lifted  the  boat  up- 
right into  the  air,  and,  breaking,  dashed  it  keel 
uppermost  on  the  beach  at  her  side — empty ! 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

Helen  uttered  a  shriek  of  agony,  and  her 
knees  smote  together,  and  she  would  have  swoon- 
ed on  the  spot  but  for  the  wind  and  the  spray 
that  beat  against  her. 

To  the  fearful  stun  succeeded  the  wildest  dis- 
tress. She  ran  to  and  fro  like  some  wild  ani- 
mal bereaved ;  she  kept  wringing  her  hands  and 
uttering  cries  of  pity  and  despair,  and  went  back 
to  the  boat  a  hundred  times ;  it  held  her  by  a 
spell. 

It  was  long  before  she  could  think  connected- 
ly, and,  even  then,  it  was  not  of  herself,  nor  of 
her  lonely  state,  but  only,  Why  did  not  she  die 
with  him  ?     Why  did  she  not  die  instead  of  him  ? 

He  had  been  all  the  world  to  her ;  and  now  she 
knew  it.  Oh,  what  a  friend,  what  a  champion, 
what  a  lover  these  cruel  waves  had  destroyed  ! 

The  morning  broke,  and  still  she  hovered  and 
hovei-ed  about  the  fatal  boat  with  great  horror- 
stricken  eyes,  and  hair  flying  to  the  breeze  ;  and 
not  a  tear.  If  she  could  only  have  smoothed  his 
last  moments,  have  spoken  one  word  into  his  dy- 
ing ear  !  But  no  !  Her  poor  hero  had  died  in 
going  to  save  others ;  died  thinking  her  as  cold 
as  the  waters  that  had  destroyed  him. 

Dead  or  alive,  he  was  all  the  world  to  her  now. 
She  went,  wailing  piteously,  and  imploring  the 
waves  to  give  her  at  least  his  dead  body  to  speak 
to  and  mourn  over.  But  the  sea  denied  her 
even  that  dismal  consolation. 

The  next  tide  brought  in  a  few  more  frag- 
ments of  the  wreck,  but  no  corpse  floated  ashore. 

Then,  at  last,  as  the  waves  once  more  retired, 
leaving,  this  time,  only  petty  fragments  of  wreck 
on  the  beach,  she  lifted  up  her  voice  and  almost 
wept  her  heart  out  of  her  body. 

Such  tears  as  these  arc  seldom  without  effect 
on  the  mind :  and  Helen  now  began  to  rebel, 
though  faintly,  against  despair.  She  had  been 
quite  crushed,  at  first,  under  the  material  evi- 
dence— the  boat  driven  empty  by  the  very  wind 
and  waves  that  had  done  the  cruel  deed.  But 
the  heart  is  averse  to  believe  calamity,  and  espe- 
cially bereavement ;  and  very  ingenious  in  argu- 
ing against  that  bitterest  of  all  woes.  So  she  now 
sat  down  and  brooded,  and  her  mind  fastened 
with  pathetic  ingenuity  on  every  circumstance 
that  could  bear  a  favorable  construction.  The 
mast  had  not  been  broken ;  how,  then,  had  it 
been  lost  ?  The  body  had  not  come  ashore.  He 
had  had  time  to  get  to  the  wreck  before  the  gale 
from  the  north  came  on  at  all :  and  why  should 
a  fair  wind,  though  powerful,  upset  the  boat  ? 


be 


FOUL  PLAY, 


On  these  slender  things  she  began  to  build  a  su- 
perstructure of  hope ;  but  soon  her  heart  inter- 
rupted the  reasoning.  "What  would  he  do  in 
my  place  ?  would  he  sit  guessing  while  hope  had 
a  hair  to  hang  by  ?"  That  thought  struck  her 
like  a  spur  :  and  in  a  moment  she  bounded  into 
action,  erect,  her  lips  fixed,  and  her  eye  on  fire, 
though  her  cheek  was  very  pale.  She  went  swift- 
ly to  Hazel's  store,  and  searched  it ;  there  she 
found  the  jib-sail,  a  boat-hook,  some  rope,  and 
one  little  oar,  that  Hazel  was  making  for  her, 
and  had  not  quite  completed.  The  sight  of  this, 
his  last  work,  overpowered  her  again ;  and  she 
sat  down  and  took  it  on  her  knees  and  kissed  it, 
and  cried  over  it.  And  these  tears  weakened 
her  for  a  time.  She  felt  it,  and  had  the  resolu- 
tion to  leave  the  oar  behind.  A  single  oar  was 
of  no  use  to  row  with.  She  rigged  the  boat-hook 
as  a  mast,  and  fastened  the  sail  to  it ;  and,  with 
this  poor  equipment,  she  actually  resolved  to  put 
out  to  sea. 

The  wind  still  blew  smartly,  and  there  was  no 
blue  sky  visible. 

And  now  she  remembered  she  had  eaten 
nothing ;  that  would  not  do.  Her  strength 
might  fail  her.  She  made  ready  a  meal,  and 
ate  it  almost  fiercely,  and  by  a  pure  effort  of  res- 
olution, as  she  was  doing  all  the  rest. 

By  this  time,  it  was  nearly  high  tide.  She 
watched  the  water  creeping  up.  Will  it  float 
the  boat  ?  It  rises  over  the  keel ;  two  inches, 
three  inches.  Five  inches  water !  Now  she 
pushes  with  all  her  strength.  No  ;  the  boat  has 
water  in  it  she  has  forgotten  to  bale  out.  She 
strained  every  nerve,  but  could  not  move  it.  She 
stopped  to  take  breath  and  husband  her  strength. 
But,  when  she  renewed  her  efforts,  the  five  inches 
were  four,  and  she  had  the  misery  of  seeing  the 
water  crawl  away  by  degrees,  and  leave  the  boat 
high  and  dry. 

She  sighed,  heart-broken,  awhile ;  then  went 
home  and  prayed. 

When  she  had  prayed  a  long  time  for  strength 
and  wisdom,  she  lay  down  for  an  hour,  and  tried 
to  sleep,  but  failed.  Then  she  prepared  for  a  more 
serious  struggle  with  the  many  difficulties  she  had 
to  encounter.  Now  she  thanked  God  more  than 
ever  for  the  health  and  rare  strength  she  had  ac- 
quired in  this  island  :  without  them  she  could 
have  done  nothing  now.  She  got  a  clay  platter, 
and  baled  the  vessel  nearly  dry.  She  left  a  lit- 
tle water  for  ballast.  She  fortified  herself  with 
food,  and  put  provisions  and  water  on  board  the 
boat.  In  imitation  of  Hazel,  she  went  and  got 
two  round  logs,  and,  as  soon  as  the  tide  crawled 
up  to  four  inches,  she  lifted  the  bow  a  little,  and 
got  a  roller  under.  Then  she  went  to  the  boat's 
stern,  set  her  teeth,  and  pushed  with  a  rush  of 
excitement  that  gave  her  almost  a  man's  strength. 

The  stubborn  boat  seeemed  elastic,  and  all 
but  moved.  Then  instinct  taught  her  where  her 
true  strength  lay.  She  got  to  the  stern  of  the 
boat,  and,  setting  the  small  of  her  back  under  the 
projecting  gunwale,  she  gathered  herself  togeth- 
er and  gave  a  superb  heave,  that  moved  the  boat 
a  foot.  She  followed  it  up  and  heaved  again 
with  like  effect.  Then,  with  a  cry  of  joy,  she  ran 
and  put  down  another  roller  forward.  The  boat 
was  now  on  two  rollers :  one  more  magnificent 
heave  with  all  her  zeal,  and  strength,  and  youth, 
and  the  boat  glided  forward.  She  turned  and 
rushed  at  it  as  it  went,  and  the  water  deepening, 


and  a  gust  catching  the  sail,  it  went  out  to  sea, 
and  she  had  only  just  time  to  throw  herself  across 
the  gunwale  panting.  She  was  afloat.  The 
wind  was  S.W.,  and  before  she  knew  where  she 
was  the  boat  headed  toward  the  home  reefs,  and 
slipped  through  the  water  pretty  fast,  consider- 
ing how  small  a  sail  she  carried.  She  ran  to 
the  helm.  Alas!  the  rudder  was  broken  off 
above  the  water  line.  The  helm  was  a  mockery, 
and  the  boat  running  for  the  reefs.  She  slacked 
the  sheet,  and  the  boat  lost  her  way,  and  began 
to  drift  with  the  tide,  which  luckily  had  not  yet 
turned.     It  carried  her  in  shore. 

Helen  cast  her  eyes  around  her  for  an  expedi- 
ent, and  she  unshipped  one  of  the  transoms, 
and  by  trailing  over  the  side,  and  alternately 
slacking  and  hauling  the  sheet,  she  contrived  to 
make  the  boat  crawl  like  a  winged  bird  through 
the  western  passage.  After  that  it  soon  got  be- 
calmed under  the  cliff,  and  drifted  into  two  feet 
water. 

Instantly  she  tied  a  rope  to  the  mast,  got  out 
into  the  water,  and  took  the  rope  ashore.  She 
tied  it  round  a  heavy  barrel  she  found  there,  and 
set  the  barrel  up,  and  heaped  stones  round  it  and 
on  it,  which,  unfortunately,  was  a  long  job, 
though  she  worked  with  feverish  haste ;  then 
she  went  round  the  point,  sometimes  wet  and 
sometimes  dry,  for  the  little  oar  she  had  left  be- 
hind because  it  broke  her  heart  to  look  at. 
Away  with  such  weakness  now  !  With  that  oar, 
his  last  work,  she  might  steer  if  she  could  not 
row.  She  got  it.  She  came  back  to  the  boat 
to  re-commence  her  voyage. 

She  found  the  boat  all  safe,  but  in  six  inches 
of  water,  and  the  tide  going  out.  So  ended  her 
voyage ;  four  hundred  yards  at  most,  and  then 
to  wait  another  twelve  hours  for  the  tide. 

It  was  too  cruel :  and  every  hour  so  precious : 
for,  even  if  Hazel  was  alive,  he  would  die  of  cold 
'  and  hunger  ere  she  could  get  to  him.  She  cried 
like  any  woman. 

She  persisted  like  a  man. 

She  made  several  trips,  and  put  away  things 
j  in  the  boat  that  could  possibly  be  of  use, — abun- 
dant provision,  and  a  keg  of  water ;  Hazel's  wood- 
en spade  to  paddle  or  steer  with ;  his  basket  of 
tools,  etc.  Then  she  snatched  some  sleep  ;  but 
it  was  broken  by  sad  and  terrible  dreams  :  then 
she  waited  in  an  agony  of  impatience  for  high 
water. 

We  are  not  always  the  best  judges  of  what  is 
goo^  for  us.  Probably  these  delays  saved  her 
own  life.  She  went  out  at  last  under  far  more 
favorable  circumstances — a  light  westerly  breeze, 
and  no  reefs  to  pass  through.  She  was,  however, 
severely  incommoded  with  a  ground-swell. 

At  first  she  steered  with  the  spade  as  well  as 
she  could  ;  but  she  found  this  was  not  sufficient. 
The  current  ran  westerly,  and  she  was  drifting 
out  of  her  course.  Then  she  remembered  Ha- 
zel's lessons,  and  made  shift  to  fasten  the  spade 
to  the  helm,  and  then  lashed  the  helm.  Even 
this  did  not  quite  do  ;  so  she  took  her  little  oar, 
kissed  it,  cried  over  it  a  little,  and  then  pulled 
manfully  with  it  so  as  to  keep  the  true  course. 
It  was  a  muggy  day,  neither  wet  nor  dry. 
White  Water  Island  was  not  in  sight  from  God- 
send Island  ;  but,  as  soon  as  she  lost  the  latter, 
the  former  became  visible, — an  ugly  grinning 
reef,  with  an  eternal  surf  on  the  south  and  west- 
ern sides. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


s: 


Often  she  left  off  rowing,  and  turned  to  look 
at  it.  It  was  all  black  and  blank,  except  the 
white  and  fatal  surf. 

When  she  was  about  four  miles  from  the  near- 
est part  of  the  reef,  there  was  a  rush  and  bub- 
ble in  the  water,  and  a  great  shark  came  after 
the  boat.  Helen  screamed,  and  turned  very 
cold.  She  dreaded  the  monster,  not  for  what 
he  could  do  now,  but  for  what  he  might  have 
done,  He  seemed  to  know  the  boat,  he  swam 
so  vigilantly  behind  it.  Was  he  there  when 
the  boat  upset  with  Hazel  in  it?  Was  it  in  his 
greedy  maw  the  remains  of  her  best  friend  must 
be  sought  ?  Her  lips  opened,  but  no  sound.  She 
shuddered  and  hid  her  face  at  this  awful  thought. 

The  shark  followed  steadily. 

She  got  to  the  reef,  but  did  not  hit  it  off  as 
she  intended.  She  ran  under  its  lee,  lowered 
the  little  sail,  and  steered  the  boat  into  a  nick 
where  the  shark  could  hardly  follow  her. 

But  he  moved  to  and  fro  like  a  sentinel,  while 
she  landed  in  trepidation  and  secured  the  boat 
to  the  branches  of  a  white  coral  rock. 

She  found  the  place  much  larger  than  it  look- 
ed from  Telegraph  Point.  It  was  an  archipela- 
go of  coral  reef  incrusted  here  and  there  with 
shells.  She  could  not  see  all  over  it,  where  she 
was,  so  she  made  for  what  seemed  the  highest 
part,  a  bleak,  sea-weedy  mound,  with  some  sandy 
hillocks  about  it.  She  went  up  to  this,  and  look- 
ed eagerly  all  round. 

Not  a  soul. 

She  called  as  loud  as  her  sinking  heart  would 
let  her. 

Not  a  sound. 

She  felt  very  sick,  and  sat  down  upon  the 
mound. 

When  she  had  yielded  awhile  to  the  weakness 
of  her  sex,  she  got  up,  and  was  her  father's  daugh- 
ter again.  She  set  to  work  to  examine  every 
foot  of  the  reef. 

It  was  mo  easy  task.  The  reeks  were  rugged 
and  sharp  in  places,  slippery  in  others ;  often 
she  had  to  go  about,  and  once  she  fell  and  hurt 
her  pretty  hands  and  made  them  bleed;  she 
never  looked  at  them,  nor  heeded,  but  got  up 
and  sighed  at  the  interruption :  then  patiently 
pemsted.  It  took  her  two  hours  to  examine 
thus,  in  detail,  one  half  the  island :  but  at  last 
she  discovered  something.  She  saw  at  the  east- 
ern side  of  the  reef  a  wooden  figure  of  a  woman, 
and,  making  her  way  to  it,  found  the  figure-head 
and  a  piece  of  the  bow  of  the  ship,  with  a  sail  on 
it,  and  a  yard  on  that.  This  fragment  was 
wedged  into  an  angle  of  the  reef,  and  the  sea- 
ward edge  of  it  shattered  in  a  way  that  struck  ter- 
ror to  Helen,  for  it  showed  how  how  omnipotent 
the  sea  had  been.  On  the  reef  itself  she  found 
a  cask  with  its  head  stove  in,  also  a  little  keg 
and  two  wooden  chests  or  cases.  But  what  was 
all  this  to  her  ? 

She  sat  down  again,  for  her  knees  failed  her. 
Presently  there  was  a  sort  of  moan  near  her, 
and  a  seal  splashed  into  the  water  and  dived  out 
of  her  sight.  She  put  her  hands  on  her  heart, 
and  bowed  h§r  head  down,  utterly  desolate.  She 
sat  thus  for  a  long  time  indeed,  until  she  was  in- 
terrupted by  a  most  unexpected  visitor. 

Something  came  sniffing  up  to  her  and  put  a 
cold  nose  to  her  hand.  She  started  violently,  and 
both  her  hands  were  in  the  air  in  a  moment. 


It  was  a  dog,  a  pointer.  He  whimpered  and 
tried  to  gambol,  but  could  not  manage  it ; 
he  was  too  weak.  However,  he  contrived  to  let 
her  see,  with  the  wagging  of  his  tail  and  a  cer- 
tain contemporaneous  twist  of  his  emaciated 
body,  that  she  was  welcome.  But,  having  per- 
formed this  ceremony,  he  trotted  feebly  away, 
leaving  her  very  much  startled,  and  not  knowing 
what  to  think;  indeed,  this  incident  set  her 
trembling  all  over. 

A  dog  saved  from  the  wreck  !  Then  why  not 
a  man?  And  why  not  that  life?  Oh,  thought 
she,  would  God  save  that  creature,  and  not  pity 
my  poor  angel  and  me  ? 

She  got  up  animated  with  hope,  and  recom- 
menced her  researches.  She  now  kept  at  the 
outward  edge  of  the  island,  and  so  went  all  round 
till  she  reached  her  boat  again.  The  shark  was 
swimming  to  and  fro,  waiting  for  her  with  horri- 
ble pertinacity.  She  tried  to  eat  a  mouthful, 
but,  though  she  was  faint,  she  could  not  eat. 
She  drank  a  mouthful  of  water,  and  then  went 
to  search  the  very  small  portion  that  remained 
of  the  reef,  and  to  take  the  poor  dog  home  with 
her,  because  he  she  had  lost  was  so  good  to  ani- 
mals. Only  his  example  is  left  me,  she  said ; 
and  with  that  came  another  burst  of  sorrow. 
But  she  got  up  and  did  the  rest  of  her  work, 
crying  as  she  went.  After  some  severe  travel- 
ling she  got  near  the  north-east  limit,  and  in  a 
sort  of  gully  she  saw  the  dog,  quietly  seated  high 
on  his  tail.  She  called  him;  but  he  never  moved. 
So  then  she  went  to  him,  and,  when  she  got  near 
him,  she  saw  why  he  would  not  come.  He  was 
watching.  Close  by  him  lay  the  form  of  a  man 
nearly  covered  with  sea-weed.  The  feet  were 
visible,  and  so  was  the  face,  the  latter  deadly 
pale.  It  was  he.  In  a  moment  she  was  by  him*, 
and  leaning  over  him  with  both  hands  quivering. 
Was  he  dead  ?  No  ;  his  eyes  were  closed ;  he 
was  fast  asleep. 

Her  hands  flew  to  his  face  to  feel  him  alive, 
and  then  grasped  both  his  hands  and  drew  them 
up  towards  her  panting  bosom  ;  and  the  tears  of 
joy  streamed  from  her  eyes,  as  she  sobbed  and 
murmured  over  him,  she  knew  not  what.  At. 
that  he  awoke  and  stared  at  her.  He  uttered  a 
loud  ejaculation  of  joy  and  wonder,  then,  taking 
it  all  in,  burst  into  tears  himself  and  fell  to  kiss- 
ing her  hands  and  blessing  her.  The  poor  soul 
had  almost  given  himself  up  for  lost.  And  to  be 
saved,  all  in  a  moment,  and  by  her ! 

They  could  neither  of  them  speak,  but  only 
mingled  tears  of  joy  and  gratitude. 

Hazel  recovered  himself  first,  and,  rising  some- 
what stiffly,  lent  her  his  arm.  Her  father's  spirit 
went  out  of  her  in  the  moment  of  victory,  and 
she  was  all  woman, — sweet,  loving,  clinging 
woman.  She  got  hold  of  his  hand  as  well  as  his 
arm,  and  cluched  it  so  tight,  her  little  grasp  seem- 
ed velvet  and  steel. 

•  "Let  me  feel  you,"  said  she  j   "  but  no  words  ! 
no  words !" 

He  supported  his  preserver  tenderly  to  the 
boat,  then,  hoisting  the  sail,  he  fetched  the  east 
side  in  two  tacks,  shipped  the  sail  and  yard,  and 
also  the  cask,  keg,  and  boxes.  He  then  put  a 
great  quantity  of  loose  oysters  on  board,  each, 
as  large  as  a  plate.  She  looked  at  him  with 
amazement. 

"  Wrhat,"  said  she,  when  he  had  quite  loaded 
the  boat,"  only  just  out  of  the  jaws  of  death, 


88 


FOUL  FLAY. 


and  yet  you  can  trouble  your  head  about  oysters 
and  things." 

"  Wait  till  you  see  what  I  shall  do  with  them," 
said  he.  "  These  are  pearl  oysters.  I  gathered 
them  for  you,  when  I  had  little  hope  I  should 
ever  see  you  again  to  give  them  you." 

This  was  an  unlucky  speech.  The  act,  that 
seemed  so  small  and  natural  a  thing  to  him,  the 
woman's  heart  measured  more  correctly.  Some- 
thing rose  in  her  throat ;  she  tried  to  laugh  in- 
stead of  crying,  and  so  she  did  both,  and  went 
into  a  violent  fit  of  hysterics  that  showed  how 
thoroughly  her  nature  had  been  stirred  to  its 
depths.  She  quite  frightened  Hazel;  and,  indeed, 
the  strength  of  an  excited  woman's  weakness  is 
sometimes  alarming  to  manly  natures. 

He  did  all  he  could  to  soothe  her  ;  without 
much  success.  As  soon  as  she  was  better  he  set 
sail,  thinking  home  was  the  best  place  for  her. 
She  leant  back  exhausted,  and,  after  a  while, 
seemed  to  be  asleep.  We  don't  believe  she  was, 
but  Hazel  did ;  and  sat,  cold  and  aching  in  body, 
but  warm  at  heart,  worshipping  her  with  all  his 
eyes. 

*  At  last  they  got  ashore  ;  and  he  sat  by  her  fire 
and  told  her  all,  while  she  cooked  his  supper  and 
warmed  clothes  at  the  fire  for  him. 

"The  ship,"  said  he,  "was  a  Dutch  vessel, 
bound  from  Batavia  to  Callao,  that  had  probably 
gone  on  her  beam-ends,  for  she  was  full  of  water. 
Her  crew  had  abandoned  her;  I  think  they  un- 
derrated the  buoyancy  of  the  ship  and  cargo. 
They  left  the  poor  dog  on  board.  Her  helm  was 
lashed  a-weather  a  couple  of  turns,  but  why  that 
was  done  I  can  not  tell  for  the  life  of  me.  I 
boarded  her  ;  unshipped  my  mast,  and  moored 
the  boat  to  the  ship ;  fed  the  poor  dog ;  rum- 
maged in  the  hold,  and  contrived  to  hoist  up  a 
small  cask  of  salted  beef,  and  a  keg  of  rum,  and 
some  cases  of  grain  and  seeds.  I  managed  to 
slide  these  on  to  the  reef  by  means  of  the  mast 
and  oar  lashed  together.  But  a  roller  ground 
the  wreck  farther  on  to  the  reef,  and  the  sudden 
snap  broke  the  rope,  as  I  suppose,  and  the  boat 
went  to  sea.  I  never  knew  the  misfortune  till 
I  saw  her  adrift.  I  could  have  got  over  that 
by  making  a  raft ;  but  the  gale  from  the  north 
brought  such  a  sea  on  us.  I  saw  she  must  break 
up,  so  I  got  ashore  how  I  could.  Ah,  I  little 
thought  to  see  your  face  again,  still  less  that  I 
should  owe  my  life  to  you." 

"  Spare  me,"  said  Helen  faintly. 

"  What,  must  not  I  thank  you  even  for  my 
life?" 

"  No.      The  account  is  far  from  even  yet.'''' 

"  You  are  no  arithmetician  to  say  so.  What 
astonishes  me  most  is,  that  you  have  never  once 
scolded  me  for  all  the  trouble  and  anxiety — " 

"I  am  too  happy  to  see  you  sitting  there,  to 
scold  you.  But  still  I  do  ask  you  to  leave  the 
sea  alone  after  this.  The  treacherous  monster  ! 
Oh,  think  what  you  and  I  have  suffered  on  it."  . 

She  seemed  quite  worn  out.  He  saw  that,  and 
retired  for  the  night,  casting  one  more  wistful 
glance  on  her.  But  at  that  moment  she  was 
afraid  to  look  at  him.  Her  heart  was  welling 
over  with  tenderness  for  the  dear  friend  whose 
life  she  had  saved. 

Next  morning  Hazel  rose  at  daybreak  as  usual, 
but  found  himself  stiff  in  the  joints,  and  with  a 
pain  in  his  back.     The  mat  that   hung  at  the 


opening  of  Helen's  cave  was  not  removed  as  usu- 
al.   She  was  on  her  bed  with  a  violent  headache. 

Hazel  fed  Ponto,  and  corrected  him.  He  was 
at  present  a  civilized  dog ;  so  he  made  a  weak 
rush  at  the  boobies  and  noddies  directly. 

He  also  smelt  Tommy  inquisitively,  to  learn 
was  he  an  eatable.  Tommy  somehow  divined' 
the  end  of  this  sinister  curiosity,  and  showed  his 
teeth. 

Then  Hazel  got  a  rope,  and  tied  one  end 
round  his  own  waist,  and  one  round  Ponto's' 
neck,  and,  at  every  outbreak  of  civilization,  jerked 
him  sharply  on  to  his  back.  The  effect  of  this 
discipline  was  rapid ;  Ponto  soon  found  that  he 
must  not  make  war  on  the  inhabitants  of  the 
island.  He  was  a  docile  animal,  and  in  a  very 
short  time  consented  to  make  one  of  "  the  happy 
family,"  as  Hazel  called  the  miscellaneous  crew 
that  beset  him. 

Helen  and  Hazel  did  not  meet  till  past  noon  ; 
and  when  they  did  meet  it  was  plain  she  had  been 
thinking  a  great  deal,  for  her  greeting  was  so 
shy  and  restrained  as  to  appear  cold  and  distant 
to  Hazel.  He  thought  to  himself,  I  was  too 
happy  yesterday,  and  she  too  kind.  Of  course  it 
could  not  last. 

This  change  in  her  seemed  to  grow,  rather  than 
diminish.  She  carried  it  so  far  as  to  go  and  almost 
hide  during  the  working  hours.  She  made  off 
to  the  jungle,  and  spent  an  unreasonable  time 
there.  She  professed  to  be  collecting  cotton,  and 
it  must  be  admitted  she  brought  a  good  deal  home 
with  her.  But  Hazel  could  not  accept  cotton  as 
the  only  motive  for  this  sudden  separation. 

He  lost  the  light  of  her  face  till  the  evening. 
Then  matters  took  another  turn :  she  was  too 
polite.  Ceremony  and  courtesy  appeared  to  be 
gradually  encroaching  upon  tender  friendship 
and  familiarity :  yet,  now  and  then,  her  soft  hazel 
eyes  seemed  to  turn  on  him  in  silence,  and  say, 
forgive  me  all  this.  Then,  at  those  sweet  looks, 
love  and  forgiveness  poured  out  of  his  eyes.  And 
then  hers  sought  the  ground.  Ancf  this  was 
generally  followed  by  a  certain  mixture  of  stiff- 
ness, timidity,  and  formality,  too  subtle  to  de- 
scribe. 

The  much-enduring  man  began  to  lose  pa- 
tience. 

"This  is  caprice,"  said  he.     "Cruel  caprice." 

Our  female  readers  will  probably  take  a  deep- 
er view  of  it  than  that.  Whatever  it  was,  an- 
other change  was  at  hand.  Since  he  was  so  ex- 
posed to  the  weather  on  the  reef,  Hazel  had 
never  been  free  from  pain  ;  but  he  had  done  his 
best  to  work  it  off.  He  had  collected  all  the 
valuables  from  the  wreck,  made  a  new  mast,  set 
up  a  rude  capstan  to  draw  the  boat  ashore,  and 
cut  a  little  dock  for  her  at  low  water,  and  clay- 
ed it  in  the  full  heat  of  the  sun ;  and,  Iu.  ving 
accomplished  this  drudgery,  he  got  at  last  to 
his  labor  of  love  ;  he  opened  a  quantity  of  pearl 
oysters,  fed  Tommy  and  the  duck  with  them, 
and  began  the  great  work  of  lining  the  cavern 
with  them.  The  said  cavern  was  somewhat 
shell-shaped,  and  his  idea  was  to  make  it  out 
of  a  gloomy  cavern  into  a  vast  shell,  lined  en- 
tirely, roof  and  sides,  with  glorious',  sweet,  pris- 
matic mother-of-pearl,  fresh  from  ocean.  Well, 
one  morning  while  Helen  was  in  the  jungle,  he 
made  a  cement  of  guano,  sand,  clay,  and  water, 
nipped  some  shells  to  a  shape  with  the  pincers, 
and  cemented  them  neatly,  like  mosaic  almost; 


FOUL  PLAY. 


8:; 


but  in  the  middle  of  his  work  he  was  cut  down 
by  the  disorder  he  had  combated  so  stoutly. 
He  fairly  gave  in,  and  sat  down  groaning  with 
pain.     And  in  this  state  Helen  found  him. 

"Oh,  what  is  the  matter?"  said  she. 

He  told  her  the  truth,  and  said  he  had  violent 
pains  in  the  back  and  head.  She  did  not  say 
much,  but  she  turned  pale.  She  bustled  and 
lighted  a  great  fire,  and  made  him  lie  down  by 
it.  She  propped  his  head  up  ;  she  set  water  on 
to  boil  for  him,  and  would  not  let  him  move  for 
any  thing ;  and  all  the  time  her  features  were 
brimful  of  the  loveliest  concern.  He  could  not 
help  thinking  how  much  better  it  was  to  be  ill 
and  in  pain,  and  have  her  so  kind,  than  to  be 
well,  and  see  her  cold  and  distant.  Towards 
evening  he  got  better,  or  rather  he  mistook  an 
intermission  for  cure,  and  retired  to  his  boat ; 
but  she  made  him  take  her  rug  with  him  ;  and, 
when  he  was  gone,  she  could  not  sleep  for  anxi- 
ety ;  and  it  cut  her  to  the  heart  to  think  how 
poorly  he  was  lodged  compared  with  her. 

Of  all  the  changes  fate  could  bring,  this  she 
had  never  dreamed  of,  that  she  should  be  so  ro- 
bust, and  he  should  be  sick  and  in  pain. 

She  passed  an  uneasy,  restless  night,  and  long 
before  morning  she  awoke  for  the  sixth  or 
seventh  time,  and  she  awoke  with  a  misgiving 
in  her  mind,  and  some  sound  ringing  in  her  ears. 
She  listened  and  heard  nothing ;  but  in  a  few 
moments  it  began  again. 

"It  was  Hazel  talking, — talking  in  a  manner 
so  fast,  so  strange,  so  loud  that  it  made  her  blood 
run  cold.  It  was  the  voice  of  Hazel,  but  not  his 
mind. 

She  drew  near,  and,  to  her  dismay,  found  him 
fever-stricken,  and  pouring  out  words  with  little 
sequence.  She  came  close  to  him  and  tried  to 
soothe  him,  but  he  answered  her  quite  at  random 
and  went  on  flinging  out  the  strangest  things  in 
stranger  order.  She  trembled  and  waited  for  a 
lull,  hoping  then  to  soothe  him  with  soft  wrords 
and  tones  of  tender  pity. 

"Dens  and  caves  P  he  roared,  answering  an 
imaginary  detractor.  "  Well,  never  mind,  love 
shall  make  that  hole  in  the  rock  a  palace  for  a 
queen ;  for  a  queen  ;  for  the  queen.  Here  he 
suddenly  changed  characters,  and  fancied  he  was 
interpreting  the  discourse  of  another.  "  He 
means  the  Queen  of  the  Fairies,"  said  he,  pa- 
tronizingly :  then,  resuming  his  own  character 
with  loud  defiance,  "  I  say  her  chamber  shall 
outshine  the  glories  of  the  Alhambra,  as  far  as 
the  lilies  outshone  the  artificial  glories  of  King 
Solomon.  Oh,  mighty  Nature,  let  others  rely  on 
the  painter,  the  gold-beater,  the  carver  of  mar- 
ble, come  you  and  help  me  adorn  the  temple  of 
my  beloved.     Amen." 

(The  poor  soul  thought,  by  the  sound  of  his 
own  words,  it  must  be  a  prayer  he  uttered.) 

And  now  Helen,  with  streaming  eyes,  tried  to 
put  in  a  word,  but  he  stopped  her  with  a  wild 
hush !  and  went  off  into  a  series  of  mysterious 
whisperings.  "Make  no  noise,  please,  or  we 
shall  frighten  her.  There — that  is  her  window 
— no  noise,  please !  I've  watched  and  waited  four 
hours,  just  to  see  her  sweet,  darling  shadow  on 
the  blinds,  and  shall  I  lose  it  for  your  small 
talk  ?  all  paradoxes  and  platitudes  !  Excuse  my 
plain  speaking, — hush!  here  it  comes, —  her 
shadow — hush  ! — how  my  heart  beats.  It  is 
gone.     So  now"  (speaking  out),  "good-night, 


base  world!  Do  you  hear?  you  company  of 
liars,  thieves,  and  traitors,  called  the  world,  go 
and  sleep  if  you  can.  I  shall  sleep :  because 
my  conscience  is  clear.  False  accusations  !  Who 
can  help  them  ?  They  are  the  act  of  others. 
Read  of  Job,  and  Paul,  and  Joan  of  Arc. .  No, 
no,  no,  no  ;  I  didn't  say  read  'em  out  with  those 
stentorian  lungs.  I  must  be  allowed  a  little 
sleep,  a  man  that  wastes  the  midnight  oil,  yet 
brushes  the  early  dew.     Good-night." 

He  turned  round  and  slept  for  several  hours  ns 
he  supposed ;  but  in  reality  he  was  silent  for  just 
three  seconds.  "  Well,"  said  he,  "and  is  a  gar- 
dener a  man  to  be  looked  down  upon  by  upstarts  ? 
When  Adam  delved  and  Eve  spun,  where  was 
then  the  gentleman?  Why,  where  the  spade 
was.  Yet  I  went  through  the  Herald's  Col- 
lege, and  not  one  of  our  mushroom  aristocracy 
('bloated'  I  object  to;  they  don't  eat  half  as 
much  as  their  footmen)  had  a  spade  for  a  crest. 
There's  nothing  ancient  west  of  the  Caspian. 
Well,  all  the  better.  For  there's  no  fool  like  an 
old  fool.  A  spade's  a  spade  for  a  that,  an  a 
that,  an  a  that,  an  a  that — an  a  that, — an  a  that. 
Hallo !  Stop  that  man  ;  he's  gone  off  on  his 
cork  leg,  of  a  that,  on  a  that — and  it  is  my  wish 
to  be  quiet.  Allow  me  respectfully  to  observe," 
said  he,  striking  off  suddenly  into  an  air  of  vast 
politeness,  "that  man  requires  change.  I've 
done  a  jolly  good  day's  work  with  the  spade  for 
this  old  Buffer,  and  now  the  intellect  claims  its 
turn.  The  mind  retires  above  the  noisy  world 
to  its  Acropolis,  and  there  discusses  the  great 
problem  of  the  day  ;  the  Insular  Enigma.  To 
be  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question,  I  believe. 
No,  it  is  not.  That  is  fully  discussed  elsewhere. 
Hum  !  To  diffuse — intelligence — from  a  fixed 
island — over  one  hundred  leagues  of  water. 

"  It's  a  stinger.  But  I  can't  complain.  I  had 
read  Lempriere,  and  Smith  and  Bryant,  and 
mythology  in  general :  yet  I  must  go  and  fall  in 
love  with  the  Sphinx.  Men  are  so  vain.  Van- 
ity whispered  she  will  set  you  a  light  one ;  why 
is  a  cobbler  like  a  king,  for  instance  ?  She  is 
in  love  with  you,  ye  fool,  if  you  are  with  her. 
The  harder  the  riddle  the  higher  the  compli- 
ment the  Sphinx  pays  you.  That  is  the  way 
all  sensible  men  look  at  it.  She  is  not  the 
Sphinx :  she  is  an  angel,  and  I  call  her  my  Lady 
Caprice.  Hate  her  for  being  Caprice  !  You  in- 
corrigible muddle-head.  Why,  I  love  Caprice 
for  being  her  shadow.  Poor,  impotent  love  that 
can't  solve  a  problem.  The  only  one  she  ever 
set  me.  I've  gone  about  it  like  a  fool.  What 
is  the  use  putting  up  little  bits  of  telegraphs  on 
the  island  ?  I'll  make  a  kite  a  hundred  feet 
high,  get  five  miles  of  rope  ready  against  the 
next  hurricane  ;  and  then  I'll  rub  it  with  phos- 
phorus and  fly  it.  But  what  can  I  fasten  it  to? 
No  tree  would  hold  it.  Dunce  !  To  the  island 
itself,  of  course.  And  now  go  to  Stantle,  Magg, 
Melton,  and  Copestake  for  one  thousand  yards  of 
silk, — Money!  Money!  Money!  Well,  give 
them  a  mortgage  on  the  island,  and  a  draft  on 
the  galleon.  Now  stop  the  pitch  fountain,  and 
bore  a  hole  near  it ;  fill  fifty  balloons  with  gas, 
inscribe  them  with  the  latitude  and  longitude, 
fly  them,  and  bring  all  the  world  about  our  ears. 
The  problem  is  solved.  It  is  solved,  and  I  am 
destroyed.  She  leaves  me ;  she  thinks  no  more 
of  me.  Her  heart  is  in  England." 
.  Then  he  muttered  for  a  long  time  unintelli- 


"JO 


FOUL  PLAY. 


gibly ;  and  Helen  ventured  near,  and  actually 
laid  her  hand  on  his  brow  to  soothe  him.  But 
suddenly  his  muttering  ceased,  and  he  seemed 
to  be  puzzling  hard  over  something. 

The  result  came  out  in  a  clear  articulate  sen- 
tence that  made  Helen  recoil,  and,  holding  by 
the  mast,  cast  an  indescribable  look  of  wonder 
and  dismay  on  the  speaker. 

The  words  that  so  staggered  her  were  these 
to  the  letter. 

"She  says  she  hates  reptiles.  Yet  she  mar- 
ries Arthur  Wardlaw." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

The  very  name  of  Arthur  Wardlaw  startled 
Helen,  and  made  her  realize  how  completely  her 
thoughts  had  been  occupied  with  another. 

But  add  to  that  the  strange  and  bitter  epigram  ! 
Or  was  it  a  mere  fortuitous  concourse  of  words  ? 

She  was  startled,  amazed,  confounded,  puz- 
zled. And,  ere  she  could  recover  her  composure, 
Hazel  was  back  to  his  problem  again :  but  no 
longer  with  the  same  energy. 

He  said  in  a  faint  and  sleepy  voice :  "■'  He 
maketh  the  winds  His  messengers,  and  flames 
of  fire  His  ministers.'  Ah  !  if  I  could  do  that ! 
Well,  why  not?  I  can  do  any  thing  she  bids 
me, — 

"'Grseculus  esmiens  ccelum  juaseria  ibit.'  " 

And  soon  after  this  doughty  declaration  he  dozed 
off,  and  forgot  all  his  trouble  for  a  while. 

The  sun  rose,  and  still  he  slept,  and  Helen 
watched  him  with  undisguised  tenderness  in  her 
face  ;  undisguised  now  that  he  could  not  see  it. 

Ere  long  she  had  companions  in  her  care.  Pon- 
to  came  out  of  his  den,  and  sniffed  about  the 
boat ;  and  then  began  to  scratch  it,  and  whim- 
per for  his  friend.  Tommy  swam  out  of  the  sea, 
came  to  the  boat,  discovered,  Heaven  knows  how, 
that  his  friend  was  there,  and,  in  the  way  of 
noises,  did  every  thing  but  speak.  The  sea-birds 
followed  and  fluttered  here  and  there  in  an  errat- 
ic way,  with  now  and  then  a  peck  at  each  other. 
All  animated  nature  seemed  to  be  uneasy  at  this 
eclipse  of  their  Hazel. 

At  last  Tommy  raised  himself  quite  perpen- 
dicular, in  a  vain  endeavor  to  look  into  the  boat, 
and  invented  a  whine  in  the  minor  key,  which 
tells  on  dogs :  it  set  Ponto  off  in  a  moment ; 
he  sat  upon  his  tail,  and  delivered  a  long  and 
most  deplorable  howl. 

"Every  thing  loves,  him,"  thought  Helen. 

With  Ponto's  music  Hazel  awoke,  and  found 
her  watching  him,  with  tears  in  her  eyes;  he 
said  softly :  "  Miss  Rolleston !  There  is  nothing 
the  matter,  I  hope.  Why  am  I  not  up  getting 
things  for  your  breakfast?" 

"Dear  friend,"  said  she,  "why  you  are  not 
doing  things  for  me  and  forgetting  yourself  is 
because  you  have  been  very  ill.  And  I  am  your 
nurse.  Now  tell  me  what  I  shall  get  you.  Is 
there  nothing  you  could  fancy  ?" 

No ;  he  had  no  appetite ;  she  was  not  to 
trouble  about  him.  And  then  he  tried  to  get 
up ;  but  that  gave  him  such  a  pain  in  his  loins, 
he  was  fain  to  lie  down  again.  So  then  he  felt 
that  he  had  got  rheumatic  fever.  He  told  her 
uo ;  but,  seeing  her  sweet  anxious  face,  begged 


her  not  to  be  alarmed, — he  knew  what  to  take 
for  it.  Would  she  be  kind  enough  to  go  to  his 
arsenal  and  fetch  some  specimens  of  bark  she 
would  find  there,  and  also  the  keg  of  rum  ?" 

She  flew  at  the  word,  and  soon  made  him  an 
infusion  of  the  barks  in  boiling  water ;  to  which 
the  rum  was  added. 

His  sweet  nurse  adminstered  this  from  time 
to  time.  The  barks  used  were  of  the  cassia- 
tree,  and  a  wild  citron-tree.  Cinchona  did  not 
exist  in  this  island,  unfortunately.  Perhaps  there 
was  no  soil  for  it  at  a  sufficient  elevation  above 
the  sea. 

Nevertheless  with  these  inferior  barks  they 
held  the  fever  in  check.  But  the  pain  was  ob- 
stinate, and  cost  Helen  many  a  sigh  ;  for,  if  she 
came  softly,  she  could  often  hear  him  moan  ; 
and,  the  moment  he  heard  her  foot,  he  set  to 
and  whistled,  for  a  blind ;  with  what  success 
may  be  imagined.  She  would  have  bought  those 
pains,  or  a  portion  of  them  ;  ay,  and  paid  a  heavy 
price  for  them. 

But  pain,  like  every  thing,  intermits,  and  in 
those  blessed  intervals  his  mind  was  more  active 
than  ever,-  and  ran  a  great  deal  upon  what  he 
called  the  Problem. 

But  she,  who  had  set  it  him,  gave  him  little 
encouragement  now  to  puzzle  over  it. 

The  following  may  serve  as  a  specimen  of 
their  conversation  on  that  head. 

"The  air  of  this  island,"  said  he,  "gives  one 
a  sort  of  vague  sense  of  mental  power.  It  leads 
to  no  result  in  my  case  :  still,  it  is  an  agreeable 
sensation  to  have  it  floating  across  my  mind  that 
some  day  I  shall  solve  the  Great  Problem.  Ah ! 
if  I  was  only  an  inventor !" 
"And  so  you  are." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Hazel,  disclaiming  as  earnestly 
as  some  people  claim;  "I  do  things  that  look 
like  acts  of  invention,  but  they  are  acts  of  memo- 
ry. I  could  show  you  plates  and  engravings  of 
all  the  things  I  have  seemed  to  invent.  A  man 
who  studies  books  instead  of  skimming  them  can 
cut  a  dash  in  a  desert  island,  until  the  fatal 
word  goes  forth — invent;  and  then  you  find 
him  out." 

"I  am  sure  I  wish  I  had  never  said  the  fatal 
word.  You  will  never  get  well  if  you  puzzle 
your  brain  over  impossibilities." 

"  Impossibilities !  But  is  not  that  begging  the 
question  ?  The  measure  of  impossibilities  is  lost 
in  thp  present  age.  I  propose  a  test.  Let  us 
go  back  a  century,  and  suppose  that  three  prob- 
lems were  laid  before  the  men  of  that  day,  and 
they  were  asked  to  decide  which  is  the  most 
impossible :  1st,  to  diffuse  intelligence  from  a  fix- 
ed island  over  a  hundred  leagues  of  water :  2d, 
to  make  the  sun  take  in  thirty  seconds  likeness- 
es more  exact  than  any  portrait-painter  ever  took 
— likenesses  that  can  be  sold  for  a  shilling  at 
fifty  per  cent,  profit :  3d,  for  New  York  and  Lon- 
don to  exchange  words  by  wire  so  much  faster 
than  the  earth  can  turn,  that  London  shall  tell 
New  York  at  ten  on  Monday  morning  what  was 
the  price  of  consols  at  two  o'clock  Monday  after- 
noon." 

"That  is  a  story,"  said  Helen,  with  a  look  of 
angelic  reproach. 

"I  accept  that  reply,"  said  Hazel.  "  As  for 
me,  I  have  got  a  smattering  of  so  many  subjects 
all  full  of  incredible  truths,  that  my  faith  in  the 
impossibility  of  any    thing  is  gone.      Ah!    if 


FOUL  PLAY. 


01 


James  Watt  was  only  here  instead  of  John  Ha- 
zel,— James  Watt  from  the  Abbey,  with  a  head 
as  big  as  a  pumpkin, — he  would  not  have  gone 
groping  about  the  island,  writing  on  rocks,  and 
erecting  signals.  No ;  he  would  have  had  some 
grand  and  bold  idea  worthy  of  the  proposition." 

"  Well,  so  I  think,"  said  Helen,  archly ;  "that 
great  man  with  the  great  head  would  have  be- 
gun by  making  a  kite  a  hundred  yards  high." 

"  Would  he  ?  Well,  he  was  quite  capable  of 
it." 

"Yes;  and  rubbed  it  with  phosphorus,  and 
flown  it  the  first  tempest,  and  made  the  string 
fast  to — the  island  itself." 

"Well,  that  is  an  idea,"  said  Hazel,  staring  ; 
"rather  hyperbolical,  I  fear.  But,  after  all,  it  is 
an  idea." 

"Or else,"  continued  Helen,  "he  would  weave 
a  thousand  yards  of  some  light  fabric,  and  make 
balloons  ;  then  he  would  stop  the  pitch-fountain, 
bore  a  hole  in  the  rock  near  it,  and  so  get  the 
gas,  fill  the  balloons,  inscribe  them  with  our  sad 
story  and  our  latitude  and  longitude,  and  send 
them  flying  all  over  the  ocean, — there  !" 

Hazel  was  amazed. 

"  I  resign  my  functions  to  you,"  said  he. 
"What  imagination  !     What  invention  !" 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Helen,  slyly ;  "  acts  of 
memory  sometimes  pass  for  invention,  you  know. 
Shall  I  tell  you  ?  when  first  you  fell  ill,  you  were 
rather  light-headed,  and  uttered  the  strangest 
things.  They  would  have  made  me  laugh  heart- 
ily, only  I  couldn't — for  crying.  And  you  said 
that  about  kites  and  balloons,  every  word." 

"  Did  I  ?  then  I  have  most  brains  when  I  have 
least  reason,  that's  all." 

"  Ay,"  said  Helen,  "  and  other  strange  things, 
— very  strange  and  bitter  things.  One  I  should 
like  to  ask  you  about,  what  on  earth  you  could 
mean  by  it ;  but  perhaps  you  meant  nothing,  aft- 
er all." 

"I'll  soon  tell  you,"  said  Hazel ;  but  he  took 
the  precaution  to  add,  "provided  I  know  what 
it  means  myself." 

She  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  seeking  the  explanation  so  boldly  offer- 
ed ;  but  her  own  courage  failed  her.  She  color- 
ed and  hesitated. 

"I  shall  wait,"  said  she,  "till  you  are  quite, 
quite  well.  That  will  be  soon,  I  hope  ;  only  you 
must  be  good,  and  obey  my  prescriptions.  Cul- 
tivate patience  ;  it  is  a  wholesome  plant ;  bow 
the  pride  of  that  intellect  which  you  see  a  fever 
can  lay  low  in  an  hour ;  aspire  no  more  beyond 
the  powers  of  man.  Here  we  shall  stay  unless 
Providence  sends  us  a  ship.  I  have  ceased  to  re- 
pine ;  and  don't  you  begin.  Dismiss  that  prob- 
lem altogether ;  see  how  hot  it  has  made  your 
poor  brow.  Be  good  now,  and  dismiss  it ;  or  else 
do  as  I  do, — fold  it  up,  put  it  quietly  away  in  a 
corner  of  your  mind,  and,  when  you  least  expect, 
it  will  pop  out  solved." 

[Oh,  comfortable  doctrine.  But  how  about 
Jamie  Watt's  headaches?  And  why  are  the 
signs  of  hard  thought  so  much  stronger  in  his 
brow  and  face  than  in  Shnkspeare's  ?  Mercy  on 
us,  there  is  another  problem.] 

Hazel  smiled,  well  pleased,  and  leaned  back, 
soothed,  silenced,  subdued,  by  her  soft  voice,  and 
the  exquisite  touch  of  her  velvet  hand  on  his  hot 
brow ;  for,  woman-like,  she  laid  her  hand  like 
down  on  that  burning  brow  to  aid  her  words  in 


soothing  it.  Nor  did  it  occur  to  him  just  then 
that  this  admonition  delivered  with  a  kind  ma- 
ternal hand,  maternal  voice,  came  from  the  same 
young  lady  who  had  flown  at  him  like  a  wild-cat 
with  this  very  problem  in  her  mouth.  She  mes- 
merized him,  problem  and  all ;  he  subsided  into 
a  complacent  languor,  and  at  last  went  to  sleep, 
thinking  only  of  her.  But  the  topic  had  entered 
his  mind  too  deeply  to  be  finally  dismissed.  It 
returned  next  day,  though  in  a  different  form. 
You  must  know  that  Hazel,  as  he  lay  on  his  back 
in  the  boat,  had  often  in  a  half-drowsy  way, 
watched  the  effect  of  the  sun  upon  the  boat's 
mast ;  it  now  stood,  a  bare  pole,  and  at  certain 
hours  acted  like  the  needle  of  a  dial  by  casting  a 
shadow  on  the  sands.  Above  all,  he  could  see 
pretty  well  by  means  of  this  pole  and  its  shadow 
when  the  sun  attained  its  greatest  elevation.  He 
now  asked  Miss  Rolleston  to  assist  him  in  mak- 
ing this  observation  exactly. 

She  obeyed  his  instructions,  and  the  moment 
the  shadow  reached  its  highest  angle,  and  show- 
ed the  minutest  symptom  of  declension,  she  said, 
"  Now !"  and  Hazel  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  : — 

"Noon!" 

"  And  forty-nine  minutes  past  eight  at  Syd- 
ney," said.  Helen,  holding  out  her  chronometer ; 
for  she  had  been  sharp  enough  to  get  it  ready  of 
her  own  accord. 

Hazel  looked  at  her  and  at  the  watch  with 
amazement  and  incredulity. 

"  What  ?"  said  he.  "  Impossible.  You  can't 
have  kept  Sydney  time  all  this  while." 

"And  pray  why  not  ?"  said  Helen.  "  Have 
you  forgotten  that  once  somebody  praised  me  for 
keeping  Sydney  time;  it  helped  you,  somehow 
or  other,  to  know  where  we  wei'e." 

"  And  so  it  will  now,"  cried  Hazel,  exultingly. 
"But  no, it  is  impossible.  We  have  gone  through 
scenes  that — you  can't  have  wound  that  watch 
up  without  missing  a  day." 

' '  Indeed  but  I  have,"  said  Helen.  "  Not  wind 
my  watch  up !  Why,  if  I  was  dying  I  should 
wind  my  watch  up.  See,  it  requires  no  key ;  a 
touch  or  two  of  the  fingers,  and  it  is  done.  Oh, 
I  am  remarkably  constant  in  all  my  habits;  and 
this  is  an  old  friend  I  never  neglect.  Do  you 
remember  that  terrible  night  in  the  boat,  when 
neither  of  us  expected  to  see  the  morning, — oh, 
how  good  and  brave  you  were  ! — well,  I  remem- 
ber winding  it  up  that  night.  I  kissed  it,  and 
bade  it  good-bye ;  but  I  never  dreamed  of  not 
winding  it  up  because  I  was  going  to  be  killed. 
What !  am  I  not  to  be  praised  again,  as  I  was 
on  board  ship?  Stingy  !  can't  afford  to  praise 
one  twice  for  the  same  thing." 

"Praised!"  cried  Hazel,  excitedly;  "wor- 
shipped, you  mean.  Why,  we  have  got  the  lon- 
gitude by  means  of  your  chronometer.  It  is  won- 
derful !  It  is  providential !  It  is  the  finger  of 
Heaven  !    Pen  and  ink,  and  let  me  work  it  out." 

In  his  excitement  he  got  up  without  assist- 
ance, and  was  soon  busy  calculating  the  longi- 
tude of  Godsend  Isle. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

"  There,"  said  he.  "Now the  latitude  I  must 
guess  at  by  certain  combinations.  In  the  first 
place  the  slight  variation  in  the  length  of  the 


fJ2 


FOUL  PLAY. 


days.  Then  I  must  try  and  make  a  rough  cal- 
culation of  the  sun's  parallax.  And  then  my  bot- 
any will  help  me  a  little  ;  spices  furnish  a  clue  ; 
there  are  one  or  two  that  will  not  grow  outside 
the  tropic.  It  was  the  longitude  that  beat  me, 
and  now  we  have  conquered  it !  Hurrah !  Now 
I  know  what  to  diffuse,  and  in  what  direction  ; 
east-south-east ;  the  ducks  have  shown  me  that 
much.  So  there's  the  first  step  towards  the  im- 
possible problem." 

"Very  well,"  said  Helen ;  "  and  I  am  sure  one 
step  is  enough  for  one  day.  I  forbid  you  the 
topic  for  twelve  hours  at  least.  I  detest  it  be- 
cause it  always  makes  your  poor  head  so  hot." 

"What  on  earth  does  that  matter?"  said  Ha- 
zel, impetuously,  and  almost  crossly. 

"Come,  come,  come,  sir,"  said  Helen, author- 
itatively ;  "it  matters  to  me." 

But  when  she  saw  that  he  could  think  of  noth- 
ing else,  and  that  opposition  irritated  him,  she 
had  the  tact  and  good  sense  not  to  strain  her  au- 
thority, nor  to  irritate  her  subject. 

Hazel  spliced  a  long,  fine-pointed  stick  to  the 
mast-head,  and  set  a  plank  painted  white  with 
guano  at  right  angles  to  the  base  of  the  mast  ; 
and  so,  whenever  the  sun  attained  his  meridian 
altitude,  went  into  .*  lifficult  and  subtle  calcula- 
tion to  arrive  j*  th  .  atitude,  or  as  near  it  as  ho 
come,  without  proper  instruments ;  and  he  brood- 
ed and  brooded  over  his  discovery  of  the  longi- 
tude, but  unfortunately  he  could  not  advance. 
In  some  problems  the  first  step  once  gained  leads, 
or  at  least  points,  to  the  next :  but  to  know 
whereabouts  they  were,  and  to  let  others  know 
it,  were  two  difficulties  heterogeneous  and  dis- 
tinct. 

Having  thought  and  thought  till  his  head  was 
dizzy,  at  last  he  took  Helen's  advice  and  put  it 
by  for  a  while.  He  set  himself  to  fit  and  number 
a  quantity  of  pearl-oyster  shells,  so  that  he  might 
be  able  to  place  them  at  once,  when  he  should  be 
able  to  re-commence  his  labor  of  love  in  the  cav- 
ern. 

One  day  Helen  had  left  him  so  employed,  and 
was  busy  cooking  the  dinner  at  her  own  place, 
but,  mind  you,  with  one  eye  on  the  dinner  and 
another  on  her  patient,  when  suddenly  she  heard 
him  shouting  very  loud,  and  ran  out  to  see  what 
was  the  matter. 

He  was  roaring  like  mad,  and  whirling  his 
arms  over  his  head  like  a  demented  windmill. 

She  ran  to  him. 

"Eureka!  Eureka!"  he  shouted,  in  furious 
excitement. 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  Helen;  "never  mind." 
She  was  all  against  her  patient  exciting  himself. 

But  he  was  exalted  beyond  even  her  control. 
"Crown  me  with  laurel/'  he  cried;  "I  have 
solved  the  problem :"  and  up  went  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?"  said  she  calmly. 

"  Get  me  two  squares  of  my  parchment," 
cried  he  ;    "and  some  of  the  finest  gut." 

""Will  not  after  dinner  do  ?" 

"No;  certainly  not,"  said  Hazel,  in  a  voice 
of  command.  "I  wouldn't  wait  a  moment  for 
all  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt." 

Then  she  went  like  the  wind  and  fetched 
them. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  thank  you  !  Now  I  want, 
— let  me  see,- — ah,  there's  an  old  rusty  hoop  that 
was  washed  ashore,  on  one  of  that  ship's  casks. 


I  put  it  carefully  away  ;  how  the  unlikeliest 
things  come  in  useful  soon  or  late  !" 

She  went  for  the  hoop,  but  not  so  rapidly,  for 
here  it  was  that  the  first  faint  doubt  of  his 
sanity  came  in.  However,  she  brought  it,  and 
he  thanked  her. 

"And  now,"  said  he,  "while  I  prepare  the 
intelligence,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  fetch 
me  the  rushes  ?'• 

" The  what?"  said  Helen,  in  growing  dismay. 

"The  rushes!  I'll  tell  you  where  to  find 
some." 

Helen  thought  the  best  thing  was  to  tempo- 
rize. Perhaps  he  would  be  better  after  eating 
some  wholesome  food.  "I'll fetch  them  direct- 
ly after  dinner,"  said  she.  "  But  it  will  be  spoil- 
ed if  I  leave  it  for  long ;  and  I  do  so  want  it  to 
be  nice  for  you  to-day." 

"Dinner?"  cried  Hazel.  "What  do  I  care 
for  dinner  now  ?  I  am  solving  my  problem. 
I'd  rather  go  without  dinner  for  years  than 
interrupt  a  great  idea.  Pray  let  dinner  take  its 
chance,  and  obey  me  for  once." 

"For  once!"'  said  Helen,  and  turned  her 
mild  hazel  eyes  on  him  with  such  a  look  of 
gentle  reproach. 

"Forgive  me !  But  don't  take  me  for  a  child, 
asking  you  for  a  toy ;  I'm  a  poor  crippled  in- 
ventor, who  sees  daylight  at  last.  Oh,  I  am 
on  fire  ;  and,  if  you  want  me  not  to  go  into  a 
fever,  why,  get  me  my  rushes." 

"Where  shall  I  find  them?"  said  Helen, 
catching  fire  at  him. 

"Go  to  where  your  old  hut  stood,  and  follow 
the  river  about  a  furlong :  you  will  find  a  bed  of 
high  rushes;  cut  me  a  good  bundle,  cut  them 
below  the  water,  choose  the  stoutest.  Here  is 
a  pair  of  shears  I  found  in  the  ship." 

She  took  the  shears  and  went  swiftly  across 
the  sands  and  up  the  slope.  He  watched  her 
with  an  admiring  eye  ;  and  well  he  might,  for 
it  was  the  very  poetry  of  motion.  Hazel  in  his 
hours  of  health  had  almost  given  up  walking; 
he  ran  from  point  to  point,  without  fatigue  or 
shortness  of  breath.  Helen,  equally  pressed  for 
time,  did  not  run ;  but  she  went  almost  as  fast. 
By  rising  with  the  dawn,  by  three  meals  a  day 
of  animal  food,  by  constant  work,  and  heavenly 
air,  she  was  in  a  condition  women  rarely  attain 
to.  She  was  trained.  Ten  miles  was  no  more 
to  her  than  ten  yards.  And,  when  she  was  in 
a  hurry,  she  got  over  the  ground  by  a  grand  but 
feminine  motion  not  easy  to  describe.  It  was  a 
series  of  smooth  undulations,  not  vulgar  strides, 
but  swift  rushes,  in  which  the  loins  seemed  to 
propel  the  whole  body,  and  the  feet  scarcely  to 
touch  the  ground :  it  was  the  vigor  and  freedom 
of  a  savage,  with  the  grace  of  a  lady. 

And  so  it  was  she  swept  across  the  sands  and 
up  the  slope, 

Et  vera  incessu  patuit  dea. 

While  she  was  gone,  Hazel  cut  two  little 
squares  of  seals'  bladder,  one  larger  than  the 
other.  On  the  smaller  he  wrote  :  "An  English 
lady  wrecked  on  an  island.  Longitude,  ;  S. 
latitude,  between  the  and  parallels.  Haste 
to  her  rescue."  Then  he  folded  this  small,  and 
inclosed  it  in  the  larger  slip,  which  he  made  into 
a  little  bag,  and  tied  the  neck  extremly  tight 
with  fine  gut,  leaving  a  long  piece  of  the  gut 
free. 


EOUL  PLAY. 


1)3 


And  now  Helen  came  gliding  back,  as  she 
went,  and  brought  him  a  large  bundle  of  rushes. 

Then  he  asked  her  to  help  him  fasten  these 
rushes  round  the  iron  hoop. 

"  It  must  not  be  done  too  regularly,"  said  he ; 
"  but  so  as  to  look  as  much  like  a  little  bed  of 
rushes  as  possible." 

Helen  was  puzzled  still,  but  interested.  So 
she  set  to  work,  and,  between  them,  they  fasten- 
ed rushes  all  round  the  hoop,  although  it  was  a 
large  one. 

But  when  it  was  done,  Hazel  said  they  were 
too  bare. 

"  Then  we  will  fasten  another  row,"  said 
Helen,  good-humored ly.  And,  without  more 
ado,  she  was  ofr  to  the  river  again. 

When  she  came  back,  she  found  him  up,  and 
he  said  the  great  excitement  had  cured  him, — 
such  power  has  the  brain  over  the  body.  This 
convinced  her  he  had  really  hit  upon  some  great 
idea.  And,  when  she  had  made  him  eat  his 
dinner  by  her  fire,  she  asked  him  to  tell  her  all 
about  it. 

But,  by  a  natural  reaction,  the  glorious  and 
glowing  excitement  of  mind  that  had  battled  his 
very  rheumatic  pains  was  now  followed  by  doubt 
and  dejection. 

"Don't  ask  me  yet,"  he  sighed.  "  Theory  is 
one  thing;  practice  is  another.  We  count 
without  our  antagonists.  I  forgot  they  will  set 
their  wits  against  mine :  and  they  are  many,  I 
am  but  one.  And  I  have  been  so  often  defeated. 
And,  do  you  know,  I  have  observed  that  when- 
ever I  say  beforehand,  Now  I  am  going  to  do 
something  clever,  I  am  always  defeated-  Pride 
really  goes  before  destruction,  and  vanity  before 
a  fall." 

The  female  mind,  rejecting  all  else,  went  like 
a  needle's  point  at  one  thing  in  this  explanation. 
"Our  antagonists?"  said  Helen,  looking  sadly 
puzzled.     "Why,  what  antagonists  have  we?" 

"The  messengers,"  said  Hazel,  with  a  groan. 
"The  aerial  messengers." 

That  did  the  business.  Helen  dropped  the 
subject  with  almost  ludicrous  haste,  and,  after  a 
few  commonplace  observations,  made  a  nice 
comfortable  dose  of  grog  and  bark  for  him. 
This  she  administered  as  an  independent  trans- 
action, and  not  at  all  by  way  of  comment  on 
his  antagonists,  the  aerial  messengers. 

It  operated  unkindly  for  her  purpose  ;  it  did 
him  so  much  good,  that  he  lifted  up  his  dejected 
head,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  again,  and  he  set 
to  work,  and,  by  sunset,  prepared  two  more  bags 
of  bladder  with  inscriptions  inside,  and  long 
tails  of  fine  gut  hanging.  He  then  set  to  work, 
and,  with  fingers  far  less  adroit  than  hers,  fast- 
ened another  set  of  rushes  round  the  hoop.  He 
set  thern  less  evenly,  and  some  of  them  not  quite 
perpendicular ;  and,  while  he  was  fumbling  over 
this,  and  examining  the  effect  with  paternal 
glances,  Helen's  hazel  eye  dwelt  on  him  with 
furtive  pity;  for,  to  her,  this  girdle  of  rushes 
was  now  an  instrument  that  bore  an  ugly  like- 
ness to  the  sceptre  of  straw  with  which  vanity 
run  to  seed  sways  imaginary  kingdoms  in  Bed- 
lam or  Bicetre. 

And  yet  he  was  better.  He  walked  about  the 
cavern  and  conversed  charmingly  ;  he  was  dic- 
tionary, essayist,  raconteur,  any  thing  she  liked  ; 
and,  as  she  prudently  avoided  and  ignored  the 
one  fatal  topic,  it  was  a  delightful  evening :  her 


fingers  were  as  busy  as  his  tongue  ;  and,  when 
he  retired,  she  presented  him  with  the  fruits  of 
a  fortnight's  work,  a  glorious  wrapper  made  of 
fleecy  cotton  inclosed  in  a  plaited  web  of  flex- 
ible and  silky  grasses.  He  thanked  her,  and 
blessed  her,  and  retired  for  the  night. 

About  midnight  she  awoke  and  felt  uneasy ; 
so  she  did  what  since  his  illness  she  had  done  a 
score  of  times  without  his  knowledge — she  stole 
from  her  lair  to  watch  him. 

She  found  him  wrapped  in  her  present,  which 
gave  her  great  pleasure;  and  sleeping  like  an 
infant,  which  gave  her  joy.  She  eyed  him  elo- 
quently for  a  long  time ;  and  then  very  timidly 
put  out  her  hand,  and,  in  her  quality  of  nurse, 
laid  it  lighter  than  down  upon  his  brow. 

The  brow  was  cool,  and  a  very  slight  moist- 
ure on  it  showed  the  fever  was  going  or  gone. 

She  folded  her  arms  and  stood  looking  at 
him  :  and  she  thought  of  all  they  two  had  done 
and  suffered  together.  Her  eyes  absorbed  him, 
devoured  him.  The  time  flew  by  unheeded.  It 
was  so  sweet  to  be  able  to  set  her  face  free  from 
its  restraint,  and  let  all  its  sunshine  beam  on 
him ;  and,  even  when  she  retired  at  last,  those 
light  hazel  eyes,  that  could  flash  fire  at  times, 
but  were  all  dove-like  now,  hung  and  lingered  on 
him  as  if  they  could  never  look  at  him  enough. 

Half  an  hour  before  daybreak  she  was  awa- 
kened by  the  dog  howling"  piteously.  She  felt 
a  little  uneasy  at  that;  not  much.  However, 
she  got  up,  and  issued  from  her  cavern,  just  as 
the  sun  showed  his  red  eye  above  the  horizon. 
She  went  towards  the  boat  as  a  matter  of  course. 
She  found  Ponto  tied  to  the  helm  :  the  boat  was 
empty,  and  Hazel  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

She  uttered  a  scream  of  dismay. 

The  dog  howled  and  whined  louder  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

Wardlaw  senior  was  not  what  you  would 
call  a  tender-hearted  man ;  but  he  was  thor- 
oughly moved  by  General  Rolleston's  distress,  and 
by  his  fortitude.  The  gallant  old  man  !  Land- 
ing in  England  one  week  and  going  back  to  the 
Pacific  the  next !  Like  goes  with  like  ;*  and 
Wardlaw  senior,  energetic  and  resolute  himself, 
though  he  felt  for  his  son,  stricken  down  by 
grief,  gave  his  heart  to  the  more  valiant  distress 
of  his  contemporary.  He  manned  and  victualled 
the  Springbok  for  a  long  voyage,  ordered  her  to 
Plymouth,  and  took  his  friend  down  to  her  by 
train. 

They  went  out  to  her  in  a  boat.  She  was  a 
screw  steamer,  that  could  sail  nine  knots  an  hour 
without  burning  a  coal.  As  she  came  down  the 
Channel,  the  General's  trouble  got  to  be  well 
known  on  board  her,  and,  when  he  came  out  of 
the  harbor,  the  sailors  by  an  honest,  hearty  im- 
pulse, that  did  them  credit,  waited  for  no  orders, 
but  manned  the  yards  to  receive  him  with  the 
respect  due  to  his  services  and  his  sacred  ca- 
lamity. 

On  getting  on  board,  he  saluted  the  captain 
and  the  ship's  company  with  sad  dignity,  and  re- 
tired to  his  cabin  with  Mr.  Wardlaw.  There 
the  old  merchant  forced  on  him  by  loan  seven 
hundred  pounds,  chiefly  in  gold  and  silver,  tell- 


& 


FOUL  PLAY. 


ing  him  there  was  nothing  like  money,  go  where 
you  will.  He  then  gave  him  a  number  of  no- 
tices he  had  printed,  and  a  paper  of  advice  and 
instructions ;  it  was  written  in  his  own  large, 
clear,  formal  hand. 

General  Rolleston  tried  to  falter  out  his  thanks. 
John  Wardlaw  interrupted  him. 

"  Next  to  you  I  am  her  father ;  am  I  not?" 

"You  have  proved  it." 

"  Well,  then.  However,  if  you  do  find  her,  as 
I  pray  to  God  you  may,  I  claim  the  second  kiss, 
mind  that ;  not  for  myself,  though  ;  for  my  poor 
Arthur,  that  lies  on  a  sick-bed  for  her." 

General  Rolleston  assented  to  that  in  a  broken 
voice.     He  could  hardly  speak. 

And  so  they  parted ;  and  that  sad  parent  went 
out  to  the  Pacific. 

To  him  it  was  indeed  a  sad  and  gloomy  voy- 
age :  and  the  hope  with  which  he  went  on  board 
oozed  gradually  away  as  the  ship  traversed  the 
vast  tracks  of  ocean.  One  immensity  of  water 
to  be  passed  before  that  other  immensity  could 
be  reached,  on  whose  vast  uniform  surface  the 
search  was  to  be  made. 

To  abridge  this  gloomy  and  monotonous  part 
of  our  tale,  suffice  it  to  say  that  he  endured  two 
months  of  water  and  infinity  ere  the  vessel,  fast 
as  she  was,  reached  Valparaiso.  Their  progress, 
however,  had  been  more  than  once  interrupted 
to  carry  out  Wardlaw's  instructions.  The  poor 
General  himself  had  but  one  idea;  to  go  and 
search  the  Pacific  with  his  own  eyes ;  but  Ward- 
law,  more  experienced,  directed  him  to  overhaul 
every  whaler  and  coasting-vessel  he  could,  and 
deliver  printed  notices  ;  telling  the  sad  story, 
and  offering  a  reward  for  any  positive  informa- 
tion, good  or  bad,  that  should  be  brought  in  to 
his  agent  at  Valparaiso.  Acting  on  these  in- 
structions they  had  overhauled  two  or  three  coast- 
ing-vessels, as  they  steamed  up  from  the  Horn. 
They  now  placarded  the  port  of  Valparaiso,  and 
put  the  notices  on  board  all  vessels  bound  west- 
ward; and  the  captain  of  the  Springbok  spoke 
to  the  skippers  in  the  port.  But  they  all  shook 
their  heads,  and  could  hardly  be  got  to  give  their 
minds  seriously  to  the  inquiry,  when  they  heard 
in  what  water  the  cutter  was  last  seen  and  on 
what  course. 

One  old  skipper  said,  "Look  on  Juan  Fernan- 
dez, and  then  at  the  bottom  of  the  Pacific ;  but 
the  sooner  you  look  there  the  less  time  you  will 
lose." 

From  Valparaiso  they  ran  to  Juan  Fernandez, 
which  indeed  seemed  the  likeliest  place  if  she 
was  alive. 

When  the  larger  island  of  that  group,  the  isl- 
and dear  alike  to  you  who  read,  and  to  us  who 
write,  this  tale,  came  in  sight,  the  father's  heart 
began  to  beat  higher. 

The  ship  anchored  and  took  in  coal,  which 
was  furnished  at  a  wickedly  high  price  by  Mr. 
Joshua  Fullalove,  who  had  virtually  purchased  the 
island  from  Chili,  having  got  it  on  lease  for 
longer  than  the  earth  itself  is'to  last,  we  hear. 

And  now  Rolleston  found  the  value  of  Ward- 
law's  loan ;  it  enabled  him  to  prosecute  his  search 
through  the  whole  group  of  islands ;  and  he  did 
hear  at  last  of  three  persons  who  had  been 
wrecked  on  Masa  Fuero  ;  one  of  them  a  female. 
He  followed  this  up,  and  at  last  discovered  the 
parties.  He  found  them  to  be  Spaniards,  and 
the  woman  smoking  a  pipe. 


After  this  bitter  disappointment  he  went  back 
to  the  ship,  and  she  was  to  weigh  her  anchor 
next  morning. 

But,  while  General  Rolleston  was  at  Masa 
Fuero,  a  small  coasting-vessel  had  come  in,  and 
brought  a  strange  report  at  second-hand  that  in 
some  degree  unsettled  Captain  Moreland's  mind ; 
and  being  hotly  discussed  on  the  forecastle,  set 
the  ship's  company  in  a  ferment. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

Hazel  had  risen  an  hour  befoi'e  dawn  for  rea- 
sons well  known  to  himself.  He  put  on  his  worst 
clothes,  and  a  leathern  belt,  his  little  bags  round 
his  neck,  and  took  his  bundle  of  rushes  in  his 
hand.  He  also  provided  himself  with  some 
pieces  of  raw  fish  and  fresh  oyster ;  and,  thus 
equipped,  went  up  through  Terrapin  Wood,  and 
got  to  the  neighborhood  of  the  lagoons  before 
daybreak. 

There  was  a  heavy  steam  on  the  water,  and 
nothing  else  to  be  seen.  He  put  the  hoop  over 
his  head,  and  walked  into  the  water,  not  with- 
out an  internal  shudder,  it  looked  so  cold. 

But  instead  of  that,  it  was  very  warm,  unac- 
countably warm.  He  walked  in  up  to  his  mid- 
dle, and  tied  his  iron  hoop  to  his  belt,  so  as  to 
prevent  it  sinking  too  deep.  This  done,  he 
waited  motionless,  and  seemed  a  little  bed  of 
rushes.  The  sun  rose,  and  the  steam  gradually 
cleared  away,  and  Hazel,  peering  through  a 
hole  or  t*vo  he  had  made  expressly  in  his  bed  of 
rushes,  saw  several  ducks  floating  about,  and 
one  in  particular,  all  purple,  without  a  speck 
but  his  amber  eye.  He  contrived  to  detach  a 
piece  of  fish,  that  soon  floated  to  the  surface 
near  him.  But  no  duck  moved  towards  it.  He 
tried  another,  and  another ;  then  a  mallard  he 
had  not  observed  swam  up  from  behind  him,  and 
was  soon  busy  pecking  at  it  within  a  yard  of  him. 
His  heart  beat ;  he  glided  slowly  and  cautious- 
ly forward  till  the  bird  was  close  to  the  rushes. 

Hazel  stretched  out  his  hand  with  the  utmost 
care,  caught  hold  of  the  bird's  feet,  and  drag- 
ged him  sharply  under  the  water,  and  brought 
him  up  within  the  circle  of  the  rushes.  He 
quacked  and  struggled.  Hazel  soused  him  un- 
der directly,  and  go  quenched  the  sound ;  then 
he  glided  slowly  to  the  bank,  so  slowly  that  the 
rushes  merely  seemed  to  drift  ashore.  This  he 
did  not  to  create  suspicion,  and  so  spoil  the  next 
attempt.  As  he  glided,  he  gave  his  duck  air 
every  now  and  then,  and  soon  got  on  terra  fir  ma. 
By  this  time  he  had  taught  the  duck  not  to 
quack,  or  he  would  get  soused  and  held  under. 
He  now  took  the  long  gut-end  and  tied  it  tight 
round  the  bird's  leg,  and  so  fastened  the  bag  to 
him.  Even  while  he  was  effecting  this,  a  posse 
of  ducks  rose  at  the  west  end  of  the  marsh,  and 
took  their  flight  from  the  island.  As  they  pass- 
ed, Hazel  threw  his  captive  up  in  the  air ;  and 
such  was  the  force  of  example,  aided,  perhaps, 
by  the  fright  the  captive  had  received,  that  Ha- 
zel's bird  instantly  joined  these  travellers,  rose 
with  them  into  the  high  currents,  and  away, 
bearing  the  news  eastward  upon  the  wings  of 
the  wind.  Then  Hazel  returned  to  the  pool, 
and  twice  more,  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to  secure 
a  bird,  and  launch  him  into  space. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


95 


So  hard  is  it  to  measure  the  wit  of  man,  and 
to  define  his  resources.  The  problem  was  solved ; 
the  aerial  messengers  were  on  the  wing,  diffus- 
ing over  hundreds  of  leagues  of  water  the  intel- 
ligence that  an  English  lady  had  been  wrecked 
on  an  unknown  island,  in  longitude  103  deg.  30 
min.,  and  between  the  32d  and  35th  parallels  of 
south  latitude;  and  calling  good  men  and  ships 
to  her  rescue  for  the  love  of  God. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

And  now  for  the  strange  report  that  landed  at 
Juan  Fernandez  while  General  Rolleston  was 
searching  Masa  Fuero. 

The  coaster  who  brought  it  ashore  had  been 
in  company,  at  Valparaiso,  with  a  whaler  from 
Nantucket,  who  told  him  he  had  fallen  in  with  a 
Dutch  whaler  out  at  sea,  and  distressed  for 
water:  he  had  supplied  the  said  Dutchman, 
who  had  thanked  him,  and  given  him  a  runlet 
of  Hollands,  and  had  told  him  in  conversation 
that  he  had  seen  land  and  a  river  reflected  on 
the  sky,  in  waters  where  no  land  was  marked  in 
the  chart;  namely,  somewhere  between  Juan 
Fernandez  and  Norfolk  Island ;  and  that,  be- 
lieving this  to  be  the  reflection  of  a  part  of  some 
island  near  at  hand,  and  his  water  being  low, 
though  not  at  that  time  run  out,  he  had  gone 
considerably  out  of  his  course  in  hopes  of  find- 
ing this  watered  island,  but  could  see  nothing  of 
it.  Nevertheless,  as  his  grandfather,  who  had 
been  sixty  years  at  sea,  and  logged  many  won- 
derful things,  had  told  him  the  sky  had  been 
known  to  reflect  both  ships  and  land  at  a  great 
distance,  he  fully  believed  there  was  an  island 
somewhere  in  that  longitude,  not  down  on  any 
chart :  an  island  wooded  and  watered. 

This  tale  soon  boarded  the  Springbok,  and  was 
hotly  discussed  on  the  forecastle.  It  came  to 
Captain  Moreland's  ears,  and  he  examined  the 
skipper  of  the  coasting-smack.  But  this  ex- 
amination elicited  nothing  new,  inasmuch  as  the 
skipper  had  the  tale  only  at  third  hand.  Cap- 
tain Moreland,  however,  communicated  it  to 
General  Rolleston  on  his  arrival,  and  asked  him 
whether  he  thought  it  worth  while  to  deviate 
from  their  instructions  upon  information  of  such 
a  character.  Rolleston  shook  his  head.  "An 
island  reflected  in  the  sky !" 

"  No,  sir:  a  portion  of  an  island  containing  a 
river." 

"  It  is  clearly  a  fable,"  said  Rolleston,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  What  is  a  fable,  General  ?" 

"That  the  sky  can  reflect  terrestrial  objects." 

"Oh,  there  I  can't  go  with  you.  The  phe- 
nomenon is  rare,  but  it  is  well  established.  I 
never  saw  it  myself,  but  I  have  come  across  those 
that  have.  Suppose  we  catechise  the  forecastle. 
Hy!    Fok'sel!" 

"Sir!" 

1 '  Send  a  man  aft :  the  oldest  seaman  aboard." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

There  was  some  little  delay:  and  then  a  sail- 
or of  about  sixty  slouched  aft,  made  a  sea  scrape, 
and,  removing  his  cap  entirely,  awaited  the  cap- 
tain's commands. 

"  My  man,"  said  the  captain,  "  I  want  you  to 
answer    a  question.     Do  you  believe  land  and 


ships  have  ever  been  seen  in  the  sky,  reflect- 
ed?" 

"A  many  good  seamen  holds  to  that,  sir," 
said  the  sailor,  cautiously. 

"Is  it  the  general  opinion  of  seamen  before 
the  mast?  Come,  tell  us.  Jack's  as  good  as 
his  master  in  these  matters." 

"  Couldn't  say  for  boys  and  lubbers,  sir.  But 
I  never  met  a  full-gi-own  seaman  as  denied  that 
there.  Sartainly  few  has  seen  it :  but  all  of  'em 
has  seen  them  as  has  seen  it ;  ships,  and  land, 
too ;  but  mostly  ships.  Hows'ever,  I  had  a  mess- 
mate once  as  was  sailing  past  a  rock  they  call 
Ailsa  Craig,  and  saw  a  regiment  of  soldiers 
marching  in  the  sky.  Logged  it,  did  the  mate  ; 
and  them  soldiers  was  a  marching  between  two 
towns  in  Ireland  at  that  very  time." 

"There, you  see,  General, "said  Captain  More- 
land. 

"But  this  is  all  second-hand,"  said  General 
Rolleston,  with  a  sigh  ;  "  and  I  have  learned 
how  every  thing  gets  distorted  in  passing  from 
one  to  another." 

"  Ah,"  said  the  captain,  "we  can't  help  that ; 
the  thing  is  rare.  I  never  saw  it  for  one ;  and  I 
suppose  you  never  saw  a  phenomenon  of  the 
kind,  Isaac?" 

"Hain't  I!"  said  Isaac,  grimly.     Then,  with 

sudden  and  not  very  reasonable  heat,  "D 

my  eyes  and  limbs  if  I  hain't  seen  the  Peak  o' 
Teneriffe  in  the  sky  topsy-turvy,  and  as  plain 
as  I  see  that  there  cloud  there  "  (pointing  up- 
ward). 

"Come,"  said  Moreland;  "now  we  are  get- 
ting to  it.     Tell  us  all  about  that." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  seaman,  "I  don't  care 
to  larn  them  as  laughs  at  every  thing  they  hain't 
seen  in  maybe  a  dozen  voyages  at  most ;  but  you 
know  me,  -and  I  knows  you ;  though  you  com- 
mand the  ship,  and  I  work  before  the  mast. 
Now  I  axes  you,  sir,  should  you  say  Isaac  Aiken 
was  the  man  to  take  a  sugar-loaf,  or  a  cocked 
hat,  for  the  Peak  o'  Teneriffe  ?" 

"  As  likely  as  I  am  myself,  Isaac." 

"No  commander  can  say  fairer  nor  that," 
said  Isaac,  with  dignity.  "Well,  then,  your 
honor,  I'll  tell  ye  the  truth,  and  no  lie:  We  was 
bound  for  Teneriffe  with  a  fair  wind,  though 
not  so  much  of  it  as  we  wanted,  by  reason  she 
was  a  good  sea-boat,  but  broad  in  the  bows.  The 
Peak  hove  in  sight  in  the  sky,  and  all  the  glasses 
was  at  her.  She  lay  a  point  or  two  on  our 
weather-quarter  like,  full  two  hours,  and  then 
she  just  melted  away  like  a  lump  o'  sugar. 
We  kept  on  our  course  a  day  and  a  half,  and  at 
last  we  sighted  the  real  Peak,  and  anchored  off 
the  port ;  whereby,  when  we  saw  Teneriffe  Peak 
in  the  sky  to  winnard,  she  lay  a  hundred  leagues 
to  looard,  s'help  me  God !" 

"That  is  wonderful,"  said  General  Rolleston. 

"That  will  do,  Isaac,"  said  the  captain. 
11  Mr.  Butt,  double  his  grog  for  a  week,  for  hav- 
ing seen  more  than  I  have." 

The  captain  and  General  Rolleston  had  along 
discussion  ;  but  the  result  was,  they  determined 
to  go  to  Easter  Island  first,  for  General  Rolleston 
was  a  soldier,  and  had  learned  to  obey  as  well  as 
command.  He  saw  no  sufficient  ground  for  de- 
viating from  Wardlaw's  positive  instructions. 

This  decision  soon  became  known  throughout 
the  ship  ;  and  she  was  to  weigh  anchor  at  11  a.m. 
next  day,  by  high  water. 


96 


FOUL  PLAY. 


At  eight  next  morning,  Captain  Moreland  and 
General  Rolleston  being  on  deck,  one  of  the  ship's 
boys,  a  regular  pet,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  black 
eyes,  comes  up  to  thcgentlemen,  takes  offhis  cap, 
and,  panting  audibly  at  his  own  audacity,  shoves 
a  paper  into  General  Rolleston's  hand,  and  scuds 
away  for  his  life. 


"  This  won't  do,"  said  the  captain,  sternly. 

The  high-bred  soldier  handed  the  paper  to  him 
unopened. 

The  captain  opened  it,  looked  a  little  vexed, 
but  more  amused,  and  handed  it  back  to  the  Gen- 
eral. 

It  was  a  Round  Robin. 


.&" 


,y>x 


'%■ 


'ysyldi 


lnu 


We  who  sign 

About  this  line,  ^" 

hope  none   offense    and   mean    none. 
We  think  Easter  Island  is  out  of  her  course. 
.    Such  of  us  as  can  be  spared  are  ready  and  rfi^0 
willing  to  take  the  old  cutter,  that  lies  for  sale, 
to  Easter  Island  if  needs  be ;  but  to  waste  the 
Steamer  it  is  a  Pity.    We  are  all  agreed  the  Dutch 
skipper  saw  land  and  water  aloft  sailing  between 
Juan  Fernandez  and  Norfolk  Isle,  and  what  a 
Dutchman  can  see  on  the  sky  ice  think  an  Eng- 
n0#  Ashman  can  find  it  in  the  sea,  God  willing. 
Whereby  we  pray  our  good  Captain  to 
follow  the  Dutchman's  course  with   a 

good  heart  and  a  willing  crew:  ,x9£ 
<$■  And  so  say  we 

ffi*  Whose  names  here  be. 


Monkeytfem. 


^ 


** 


*c 


%* 


.<H 


* 


Round  Robins  are  not  ingratiating  as  a  rule. 
But  this  one  came  from  some  rough  but  honest 
fellows,  who  had  already  shown  that  kindliness 
and  tact  may  reside  in  a  course  envelope.  The 
sailors  of  the  Springbok,  when  they  first  boarded 
her  in  the  Thames,  looked  on  themselves  as  men 
bound  on  an  empty  cruise;  and  nothing  but 
the  pay,  which  was  five  shillings  per  month 
above  the  average,  reconciled  them  to  it ;  for  a 
sailor  does  not  like  going  to  sea  for  nothing, 
any  more  than  a  true  sportsman  likes  to  ride  to 
hounds  that  are  hunting  a  red  herring  trailed. 

But  the  sight  of  the  General  had  touched  them 
afar  off.  His  gray  hair  and  pale  face,  seen  as  he 
rowed  out  of  Plymouth  Harbor,  had  sent  them  to 
the  yards  by  a  gallant  impulse  ;  and  all  through 
the  voyage  the  game  had  been  to  put  on  an  air 
of  alacrity  and  hope,  whenever  they  passed  the 
General  or  came  under  his  eye. 

If  hypocrisy  is  always  a  crime,  this  was  a  very 
criminal  ship ;  for  the  men,  and  even  the  boys, 
were  hypocrites,  who,  feeling  quite  sure  that  the 
daughter  was  dead  at  sea  months  ago,  did,  never- 
theless, make  up  their  faces  to  encourage  the 
father  into  thinking  she  was  alive  and  he  was  go- 
ing to  find  her.  But  people  who  pursue  this  game 
too  long,  and  keep  up  the  hopes  of  another,  get 
infected  at  last  themselves:  and  the  crew  of  the 


Springbok  arrived  at  Valparaiso  infected  with  a 
little  hope.  Then  came  the  Dutchman's  tale, 
and  the  discussion  which  ended  adversely  to 
their  views ;  and  this  elicited  the  circular  we 
have  now  the  honor  to  lay  before  our  readers. 

General  Rolleston  and  Captain  Moreland  re- 
turned to  the  cabin  and  discussed  this  document. 
They  came  on  deck  again,  and  the  men  were 
piped  aft.  General  Rolleston  touched  his  cap, 
and,  with  the  Round  Robin  in  his  hand,  address- 
ed them  thus : — 

"My  men,  I  thank  you  for  taking  my  trouble 
to  heart  as  you  do.  But  it  would  be  a  bad  re- 
turn to  send  any  of  you  to  Easter  Island  in  that 
cutter  ;  for  she  is  not  sea-worthy :  so  the  captain 
tells  me.  I  will  not  consent  to  throw  away 
your  lives  in  trying  to  save  a  life  that  is  dear  to 
me  ;  but,  as  to  the  Dutchman's  story,  about  an 
unknown  island,  our  captain  seems  to  think  that 
is  possible  ;  and  you  tell  us  you  are  of  the  same 
opinion.  Well,  then,  I  give  up  my  own  judg- 
ment, and  yield  to  yours.  Yes,  we  will  go  west- 
ward with  a  good  heart  (he  sighed),  and  a  will- 
ing crew." 

The  men  cheered.  The  boatswain  piped  ; 
the  anchor  was  heaved,  and  the  Springbok  went 
out  on  a  course  that  bade  fair  to  carry  her  with- 
in a  hundred  miles  (  f  Godsend  Island. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


97 


She  ran  fast.  On  the  second  day  some  ducks 
passed  over  her  head,  one  of  which  was  observed 
to  have  something  attached  to  its  leg. 

She  passed  within  sixty  miles  of  Mount  Look- 
out ;  but  never  saw  Godsend  Island  ;  and  so 
pursued  her  way  to  the  Society  Islands ;  sent 
out  her  boats  ;  made  every  inquiry  around  about 
the  islands,  but  with  no  success ;  and,  at  last, 
after  losing  a  couple  of  months  there,  brought 
the  heart-sick  father  back,  on  much  the  same 
course,  but  rather  more  northerly. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

Hazel,  returned  homeward  in  a  glow  of  tri- 
umph, and  for  once  felt  disposed  to  brag  to  Hel- 
en of  his  victory, — a  victory  by  which  she  was 
to  profit ;  not  he. 

They  met  in  the  wood  ;  for  she  had  tracked 
him  by  his  footsteps.  She  seemed  pale  and.dis- 
turbed,  and  speedily  interrupted  his  exclama- 
tions of  triumph  by  one  of  delight,  which  was 
soon,  however,  followed  by  one  of  distress. 

"Oh,  look  at  you !"  she  said.  "You  have 
been  in  the  water:  it  is  wicked  ;  wicked." 

"But  I  have  solved  the  problem.  'I  caught 
three  ducks  one  after  the  other,  and  tied  the  in- 
telligence to  their  legs  :  they  are  at  this  moment 
careering  over  the  ocean,  with  our  story  and  our 
longitude,  and  a  guess  at  our  latitude.  Crown 
me  with  bays." 

"With  foolscap,  more  likely,"  said  Helen  : 
"only  just  getting  well  of  rheumatic  fever,  and 
to  go  and  stand  in  water  up  to  the  middle." 

"  Why,  you  don't  listen  to  me  !"  cried  Hazel, 
in  amazement.  "I  tell  you  I  have  solved  the 
problem." 

"It  is  you  that  don't  listen  to  common  sense," 
retorted  Helen.  "  If  you  go  and  make  yourself 
ill,  all  the  problems  in  the  world  will  not  compen- 
sate me.  And  I  must  say  I  think  it  was  not  very 
kind  of  you  to  run  off  so  without  warning  :  why 
give  me  hours  of  anxiety  for  want  of  a  word  ? 
But  there,  it  is  useless  to  argue  with  a  boy  :  yes, 
sir,  a  boy.  The  fact  is,  I  have  been  too  easy 
with  you  of  late.  One  indulges  sick  children. 
But  then  they  must  not  slip  away  and  stand  in 
the  water,  or  there  is  an  end  of  indulgence  ;  and 
one  is  driven  to  severity.  You  must  be  ruled 
with  a  rod  of  iron.  Go  home  this  moment,  sir, 
and  change  your  clothes  ;  and  don't  you  presume 
to  come  into  the  presence  of  the  nurse  you  have 
offended,  till  there's  not  a  wet  thread  about  you." 

And  so  she  ordered  him  off.  The  inventor  in 
his  moment  of  victory  slunk  away  crestfallen  to 
change  his  clothes. 

So  far  Helen  Kolleston  was  a  type  of  her  sex 
in  its  treatment  of  inventors.  At  breakfast  she 
became  a  brilliant  exception.  The  moment  she 
saw  Hazel  seated  by  her  fire  in  dry  clothes  she 
changed  her  key,  and  made  him  relate  the  whole 
business,  and  expressed  the  warmest  admiration 
and  sympathy. 

"  But,'*  said  she,  "I  do  ask  you  not  to  repeat 
this  exploit  too  often  ;  now  don't  do  it  again  for 
a  fortnight.  The  island  will  not  run  away. 
Ducks  come  and  go  every  day,  and  your  health 'is 
very,  very  precious." 

He  colored  with  pleasure,  and  made  the  prom- 
ise at  once.  But  during  this  fortnight  events  oc- 
7 


curred.  In  the  first  place,  he  improved  his  in- 
vention. He  remembered  how  a  duck,  over- 
weighted by  a  crab,  which  was  fast  to  her  leg, 
had  come  on  board  the  boat.  Memory  dwelling 
on  this,  and  invention  digesting  it,  he  resolved  to 
weight  his  next  batch  of  ducks ;  for  he  argued 
thus:  "Probably  our  ducks  go  straight  from 
this  to  the  great  American  Continent.  Then  it 
may  be  long  ere  one  of  them  falls  into  the  hands 
of  a  man ;  and  perhaps  that  man  will  not  know 
English.  But,  if  I  could  impede  the  flight  of  my 
ducks,  they  might  alight  on  ships :  and  three 
ships  out  of  four  know  English." 

Accordingly,  he  now  inserted  stones  of  various 
sizes  into  the  little  bags.  It  was  a  matter  of 
nice  calculation  :  the  problem  was  to  weight  the 
birds  just  so  much  that  they  might  be  able  to  fly 
three  or  four  hundred  miles,  or  about  half  as  far 
as  their  unencumbered  companions. 

But  in  the  midst  of  all  this  a  circumstance  oc- 
curred that  would  have  made  a  vain  man,  or  in- 
deed most  men,  fling  the  whole  thing  away. 
Helen  and  he  came  to  a  rupture.  It  began  by 
her  fault,  and  continued  by  his.  She  did  not 
choose  to  know  her  own  mind,  and,  in  spite  of  se- 
cret warnings  from  her  better  judgment,  she  was 
driven  by  curiosity,  or  by  the  unhappy  restless- 
ness to  which  her  sex  are  peculiarly  subject  at 
odd  times,  to  sound  Hazel  as  to  the  meaning  of 
a  certain  epigram  that  rankled  in  her.  And  she 
did  it  in  the  most  feminine  way,  that  is  to  say,  in 
the  least  direct:  whereas  the  safest  way  would 
have  been  to  grasp  the  nettle,  if  she  could  not  let 
it  alone. 

Said  she  one  day,  quietly,  though  with  a  deep 
blush  :   "Do  you  know  Mr.  Arthur  Wardlaw  ?" 

Hazel  gave  a  shiver,  and  said,  "  I  do." 

"Do  you  know  any  thing  about  him ?" 

"I  do." 

"Nothing  to  his  discredit,  I  am  sure." 

' '  If  you  are  sure,  why  ask  me  ?  Do  I  ever 
mention  his  name  ?" 

"Perhaps  you  do,  sometimes,  without  intend- 
ing it." 

"You  are  mistaken  :  he  is  in  your  thoughts, 
no  doubt ;  but  not  in  mine." 

"  Ought  I  to  forget  people  entirely,  and  what 
I  owe  them  ?" 

"  That  is  a  question  I  decline  to  go  into." 

"  How  harshly  you  speak  to  me.  Is  that  fair  ? 
You  know  my  engagement,  and  that  honor  and 
duty  draw  me  to  England ;  yet  I  am  happy  here. 
You,  who  are  so  good  and  strong,  might  pity  me 
at  least ;  for  I  am  torn  this  way  and  that :"  and 
here  the  voice  ceased,  and  the  tears  began  to 
flow. 

"I  do  pity  you,"  said  Hazel;  "I  must  pity 
any  one  who  is  obliged  to  mention  honor  and  duty 
in  the  same  breath  as  Arthur  Wardlaw." 

At  this  time  Helen  drew  back,  offended  bitterly. 
"  That  pity  I  reject  and  scorn, "  said  she.  "  No, 
I  plighted  my  faith  with  my  eyes  open,  and  to  a 
worthy  object.  I  never  knew  him  blacken  any 
person  who  was  not  there  to  speak  for  himself, 
and  that  is  a  very  worthy  trait,  in  my  opinion. 
The  absent  are  like  children ;  they  are  helpless 
to  defend  themselves." 

Hazel  racked  with  jealousy,  and  irritated  at 
this  galling  comparison,  lost  his  temper  for  once, 
and  said  those  who  lay  traps  must  not  complain 
if  others  fall  into  them. 

"Traps!     Who  lay  them?" 


98 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"You  did,  Miss  Rolleston.     Did  lever  con- 
descend to  mention  that  man's  name  since  we 
have  been  on  the  island  ?     It  is  you  make  me 
talk  of  him." 
"  Condescend?" 

"That  is  the  word.  Nor  will  I  ever  deign  to 
mention  him  again.  If  my  love  had  touched 
your  heart,  I  should  have  been  obliged  to  men- 
tion him,  for  then  I  should  have  been  bound  to 
tell  you  a  story  in  which  he  is  mixed — my  own 
miserable  story, — my  blood  boils  against  the  hu- 
man race  when  I  think  of  it.  But  no,  I  see  I  am 
nothing  to  you  ;  and  I  will  be  silent." 

"  It  is  very  cruel  of  you  to  say  that,"  replied 
Helen,  with  tears  in  her  eyes;  "tell  me  your 
story,  and  you  will  see  whether  you  are  nothing 
to  me." 

"Not  one  word  of  it,"  said  Hazel,  slowly, 
"  until  you  have  forgotten  that  man  exists." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  sir,  this  is  plain  speaking. 
I  am  to  forget  honor  and  plighted  faith  ;  and 
then  you  will  trust  me  with  your  secrets,  when  I 
have  shown  myself  unworthy  to  be  trusted  with 
any  thing.  Keep  your  secrets,  and  I'll  try  and 
keep  faith  ;  ay,  and  I  shall  keep  it,  too,  as  long 
as  there's  life  in  my  body. " 

"  Can't  you  keep  faith  without  torturing  me, 
who  love  you?" 

Helen's  bosom  began  to  heave  at  this,  but  she 
fought  bravely.  "Love  me  less,  and  respect  me 
more,"  said  she,  panting  ;  "  you  affront  me,  you 
frighten  me.  I  looked  on  you  as  a  brother,  a 
dear  brother.  But  now  I  am  afraid  of  you — I 
am  afraid — " 

He  was  so  injudicious  as  to  interrupt  her,  in- 
instead  of  giving  her  time  to  contradict  herself. 
"You  have  nothing  to  fear,  "said  he  ;  "keep  this 
side  of  the  island,  and  I'll  live  on  the  other,  rath- 
ur  than  near  the  name  of  Arthur  Wardlaw." 

Helen's  courage  failed  her  at  that  spirited  pro- 
posal, and  she  made  no  reply  at  all,  but  turned 
her  back  haughtily,  and  went  away  from  him, 
only,  when  she  had  got  a  little  way,  her  proud 
head  drooped,  and  she  went  crying. 

A  coolness  sprang  up  between  them,  and  nei- 
ther of  them  knew  how  to  end  it.  Hazel  saw  no 
way  to  serve  her  now,  except  by  flying  weighted 
ducks,  and  he  gave  his  mind  so  to  this  that  one 
day  he  told  her  he  had  twenty-seven  ducks  in 
the  air  all  charged,  and  two -thirds  of  them 
weighted.  He  thought  that  must  please  her 
now.  To  his  surprise  and  annoyance,  she  re- 
ceived the  intelligence  coldly,  and  asked  him 
whether  it  was  not  cruel  to  the  birds. 

Hazel  colored  with  mortification  at  his  great 
act  of  self-denial  being  so  received. 

He  said,  "  I  don't  think  my  worst  enemy  can 
say  I  am  wantonly  cruel  to  God's  creatures." 

Helen  threw  in,  deftly,  "And  I  am  not  your 
worst  enemy." 

"  But  what  other  way  is  there  to  liberate  you 
from  this  island,  where  you  have  nobody  to 
speak  to  but  me  ?  Well,  selfishness  is  the  best 
course.  Think  only  of  others,  and  you  are  sure 
not  to  please  them." 

"If  you  want  to  please  people,  you  must  be- 
gin by  understanding  them,"  said  the  lady,  not 
ill-naturedly. 

"  But  if  they  don't  understand  themselves?" 
"Then   pity  them;  you   can,  for   you  are  a 
man." 

"What  hurts  me,"  said  Hazel,  "is  that  you 


really  seem  to  think  I  fly  these  ducks  for  my 
pleasure.  Why,  if  I  had  my  wish,  you  and  I 
should  never  leave  this  island,  nor  any  other  per- 
son set  a  foot  on  it.     I  am  frank,  you  see." 

"  Rather  too  frank." 

"  What  does  it  matter,  since  I  do  my  duty  all 
the  same,  and  fly  the  ducks  ?  But  sometimes  I 
do  yearn  for  a  word  of  praise  for  it ;  and  that 
word  never  comes." 

"  It  is  a  praiseworthy  act,"  said  Helen,  but  so 
icily  that  it  is  a  wonder  he  ever  flew  another 
duck  after  that. 

"No  matter,"  said  he,  and  his  hand  involun- 
tarily sought  his  heart ;  "you  read  me  a  sharp 
but  wholesome  lesson,  that  we  should  do  our 
duty  for  our  duty's  sake.  And  as  I  am  quite 
sure  it  is  my  duty  to  liberate  you  and  restore 
you  to  those  you —  I'll  fly  three  ducks  to-mor- 
row morning  instead  of  two." 

"It  is  not  done  by  my  advice,"  said  Helen. 
"  You  will  certainly  make  yourself  ill." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  nonsense  !"  said  Hazel. 

"You  are  rude  to  me,"  said  Helen,  "and  I 
am  not  aware  that  I  deserve  it." 

"  Rude,  am  I  ?  Then  I'll  say  no  more,"  said 
Hazel,  half  humbly,  half  doggedly. 

His  parchment  was  exhausted,  and  he  was 
driven  to  another  expedient.  He  obtained  al- 
cohol by  distillation  from  rum,  and  having  found 
dragon's  blood  in  its  pure  state,  little  ruby  drops, 
made  a  deep  red  varnish  that  defied  water ;  he 
got  slips  of  bark,  white  inside,  cut  his  inscription 
deep  on  the  inner  side,  and  filled  the  incised  letters 
with  this  red  varnish.  He  had  forty-eight  ducks 
in  the  air,  and  was  rising  before  daybreak  to 
catch  another  couple,  when  he  was  seized  with 
a  pain  in  the  right  hip  and  knee,  and  found  he 
could  hardly  walk,  so  he  gave  in  that  morning, 
and  kept  about  the  premises.  But  he  got  worse, 
and  had  hardly  any  use  of  his  right  side,  from 
the  waist  downward,  and  was  in  great  pain. 

As  the  day  wore  on,  the  pain  and  loss  of  power 
increased,  and  resisted  all  his  remedies;  there 
was  no  fever  to  speak  of;  but  Nature  was  grim- 
ly revenging  herself  for  many  a  gentler  warning 
neglected.  When  he  realized  his  condition,  he 
was  terribly  cut  up,  and  sat  on  the  sand  with  his 
head  in  his  hands  for  nearly  two  hours.  But, 
after  that  period  of  despondency,  he  got  up,  took 
his  boat-hook,  and,  using  it  as  a  staff,  hobbled 
to  his  arsenal,  and  set  to  work. 

Among  his  materials  was  a  young  tree  he  had 
pulled  up ;  the  roots  ran  at  right  angles  to  the 
stem.  He  just  sawed  off  the  ends  of  the  roots, 
and  then  proceeded  to  shorten  the  stem. 

But  meantime  Helen,  who  had  always  a  secret 
eye  on  him  and  his  movements,  had  seen  there 
was  something  wrong,  and  came  timidly  and 
asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Nothing,"  said  he,  doggedly. 

"  Then  why  did  you  sit  so  long  on  the  sand  ? 
I  never  saw  you  like  that." 

"  L was  ruminating." 

"What  upon ?  Not  that  I  have  any  right  to 
ask." 

"On  the  arrogance  and  folly  of  men;  they 
attempt  more  than  they  can  do,  and  despise  the 
petty  prudence  and  common  sense  of  women, 
and  smart  for  it ;  as  I  am  smarting  now  for  be- 
ing wiser  than  you." 

"Oh,"  said  Helen ;  "why,  what  is  the  mat- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


09 


ter?  and  what  is  that  you  have  made  ?  It  looks 
like — oh  dear  !" 

"It  is  a  crutch,"  said  Hazel,  with  forced 
calmness  ;  "  and  I  am  a  cripple." 

Helen  clasped  her  hands,  and  stood  trembling. 

Hazel  lost  his  self-control  for  a  moment,  and 
cried  out  in  a  voice  of  agony,  "A  useless  crip- 
ple.    I  wish  I  was  dead  and  out  of  the  way." 

Then  ashamed  of  having  given  way  before 
he?-,  he  seized  his  crutch,  placed  the  crook  under 
his  arm,  and  turned  sullenly  away  from  her. 

Four  steps  he  took  with  his  crutch. 

She  caught  him  with  two  movements  of  her 
supple  and  vigorous  frame. 

She  just  laid  her  left  hand  gently  on  his  shoul- 
der, and  with  her  right  she  stole  the  crutch  softly 
away,  and  let  it  fall  upon  the  sand.  She  took 
his  right  hand,  and  put  it  to  her  lips  like  a  sub- 
ject paying  homage  to  her  sovereign  ;  and  then 
she  put  her  strong  arm  under  his  shoulder,  still 
holding  his  l-ight  hand  in  hers,  and  looked  in  his 
face.  "No  wooden  crutches  when  I  am  by," 
said  she,  in  a  low  voice,  full  of  devotion. 

He  stood  surprised,  and  his  eyes  began  to  fill. 

"  Come,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  of  music.  And, 
thus  aided,  he  went  with  her  to  her  cavern.  As 
they  went,  she  asked  him  tenderly  where  the 
pain  was. 

"  It  was  in  my  hip  and  knee,"  he  said  :  "  but 
now  it  is  nowhere ;  for  joy  has  come  back  to  my 
heart." 

"  And  to  mine 'too,"  said  Helen  ;  "  except  for 
this." 

The  quarrel  dispersed  like  a  cloud,  under  this 
calamity.  There  was  no  formal  reconciliation  ; 
no  discussion :  and  this  was  the  wisest  course : 
for  the  unhappy  situation  remained  unchanged  ; 
and  the  friendliest  discussion  could  only  fan  the 
embers  of  discord  and  misery  gently,  instead  of 
fiercely. 

The  pair  so  strangely  thrown  together  com- 
menced a  new  chapter  of  their  existence.  It 
was  not  patient  and  nurse  over  again  ;  Hazel, 
though  very  lame,  had  too  much  spirit  left  to 
accept  that  position.  But  still  the  sexes  became 
in  a  measure  reversed, — Helen  the  fisherman 
and  forager,  Hazel  the  cook  and  domestic. 

He  was  busy  as  ever,  but  in  a  narrow  ch'cle ; 
he  found  pearl  oysters  near  the  sunk  galleon, 
and,  and  ere  he  had  been  lame  many  weeks,  he 
had  entirely  lined  the  sides  of  the  cavern  with 
mother-of-pearl  set  in  cement,  and  close  as  mo- 
saic. 

Every  day  he  passed  an  hour  in  Paradise; 
for  his  living  crutch  made  him  take  a  little  walk 
with  her  ;  her  hand  held  his ;  her  arm  support- 
ed his  shoulder ;  her  sweet  face  was  near  his, 
fall  of  tender  solicitude  ;  they  seemed  to  be  one ; 
and  spoke  in  whispers  to  each  other,  like  think- 
ing aloud.  The  causes  of  happiness  were  ever 
present ;  the  causes  of  unhappiness  were  out  of 
sight,  and  showed  no  signs  of  approach. 

And,  of  the  two,  Helen  was  the  happiest.  Be- 
fore a  creature  so  pure  as  this  marries  and  has 
children,  the  great  maternal  instinct  is  still  there, 
but  feeds  on  what  it  can  get, — first  a  doll,  and  then 
some  helpless  creature  or  other.  Too  often  she 
wastes  her  heart's  milk  on  something  grown  up, 
but  as  selfish  as  a  child.  Helen  was  more  for- 
tunate ;  her  child  was  her  hero,  now  so  lame 
that  he  must  lean  on  her  to  walk.     The  days 


passed  by,  and  the  island  was  fast  becoming  the 
world  to  those  two,  and  as  bright  a  world  as 
ever  shone  on  two  mortal  creatures. 

It  was  a  happy  dream. 

What  a  pity  that  dreams  dissolve  so  soon ! 
This  had  lasted  for  nearly  two  months,  and  Ha- 
zel was  getting  better,  though  still  not  well 
enough,  or  not  fool  enough  to  dismiss  his  live 
crut«h,  when  one  afternoon  Helen,  who  had  been 
up  on  the  heights,  observed  a  dark  cloud  in  the 
blue  sky  towards  the  west.  There  was  not  an- 
other cloud  visible,  and  the  air  marvellously 
clear  ;  time,  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour  be- 
fore sunset.  She  told  Hazel  about  this  solitary 
cloud  and  asked  him,  with  some  anxiety,  if  it 
portended  another  storm.  He  told  her  to  be  un- 
der no  alarm — there  were  no  tempests  in  that 
latitude  except  at  the  coming  in  and  going  out 
of  the  rains — but  he  should  like  to  go  round  the 
Point  and  look  at  her  cloud. 

She  lent  him  her  arm,  and  they  went  round 
the  Point ;  and  there  they  saw  a  cloud  entirely 
different  from  any  thing  they  had  ever  seen  since 
they  were  on  the  island.  It  was  like  an  enor- 
mous dark  ribbon  stretched  along  the  sky,  at 
some  little  height  above  the  horizon.  Notwith- 
standing its  prodigious  length  it  got  larger  before 
their  very  eyes. 

Hazel  started. 

Helen  felt  him  start,  and  asked  him,  with  some 
surprise,  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Cloud !"  said  he  ;  "  that  is  no  cloud.  That 
is  smoke." 

"  Smoke  !"  echoed  Helen,  becoming  agitated 
in  her  turn. 

"  Yes  ;  the  breeze  is  northerly,  and  carries  the 
smoke  nearer  to  us  ;  it  is  the  smoke  of  a  steam* 
boat." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

Both  were  greatly  moved ;  and  after  one  swift 
glance  Helen  stole  at  him,  neither  looked  at  the 
other.     They  spoke  in  flurried  whispers. 

"  Can  they  see  the  island  ?" 

"I  don't  know ;  £t  depends  on  how  far  the 
boat  is  to  windward  of  her  smoke." 

"  How  shall  we  know  ?" 

"  If  she  sees  the  island,  she  will  make  for  it 
that  moment." 

"  Why  ?  do  ships  never  pass  an  unknown  isl- 
and ?" 

"  Yes.     But  that  steamer  will  not  pass  us." 

"But  why?" 

At  this  question  Hazel  hung  his  head,  and  his 
lip  quivered.  He  answered  her  at  last.  "  Be- 
cause she  is  looking  for  you." 

Helen  was  struck  dumb  at  this. 

He  gave  his  reasons.  "  Steamers  never  visit 
these  waters.  Love  has  brought  that  steamer 
out ;  love  that  will  not  go  unrewarded.  Arthur 
Wardlaw  is  on  board  that  ship." 

"  Have  they  seen  us  yet  ?" 

Hazel  forced  on  a  kind  of  dogged  fortitude. 
He  said,  "When  the  smoke  ceases  to  elongate, 
you  will  know  they  have  changed  their  course, 
and  they  will  change  their  course  the  moment 
the  man  at  the  mast-head  sees  us." 

"Oh!  But  how  do  you  know  they  have  a 
man  at  the  mast-head  ?" 


100 


FOUL  PLAY. 


M  I  know  by  myself.  I  should  have  a  man  at 
the  mast-head  night  and  day." 

And  now  the  situation  was  beyond  words. 
They  both  watched  and  watched,  to  see  the  line 
of  smoke  cease. 

It  continued  to  increase  and  spread  eastward ; 
and  that  proved  the  steamer  was  continuing  her 
course. 

The  sun  drew  close  to  the  horizon. 

"They  don't  see  us,"  said  Helen  faintly. 

"  No,"  said  Hazel ;   "  not  yet." 

"  And  the  sun  is  just  setting.  It  is  all  over." 
She  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes  a  moment, 
and  then,  after  a  sob  or  two,  she  said  almost 
cheerfully,  "  Well,  dear  friend,  we  were  happy 
till  that  smoke  came  to  disturb  us:  let  us  try 
and  be  as  happy  now  it  is  gone.  Don't  smile 
like  that,  it  makes  me  shudder." 

"Did  I  smile?  It  must  have  been  at  your 
simplicity  in  thinking  we  have  seen  the  last  of 
that  steamer." 

"And  so  we  have." 

"  Not  so.  In  three  hours  she  will  be  at  anchor 
in  that  bay." 

"  Why,  what  will  bring  her?" 

"  I  shall  bring  her." 

"You?     How?" 

"By  lighting  my  bonfire." 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

Helen  had  forgotten  all  about  the  bonfire. 
She  now  asked  whether  he  was  sure  those  on 
board  the  steamer  could  see  the  bonfire.  Then 
Hazel  told  her  that  it  was  now  of  prodigious  size 
and  height.  Some  six  months  before  he  was  crip- 
pled he  had  added  and  added  to  it. 

"That  bonfire," said  he,  "will  throw  a  ruddy 
glare  over  the  heavens,  that  they  can't  help  see- 
ing on  board  the  steamer.  Then,  as  they  are 
not  on  a  course,  but  on  a  search,  they  will  cer- 
tainly run  a  few  miles  southward  to  see  what  it 
is.  They  will  say  it  is  either  a  beacon  or  a  ship 
on  fire ;  and,  in  either  case,  they  will  turn  the 
boat's  head  this  way.  Well,  before  they  have 
run  southward  half  a  dozen  miles,  their  lookout 
will  see  the  bonfire,  and  the  island  in  its  light. 
Let  us  get  to  the  boat,  my  lucifers  are  there." 

She  lent  him  her  arm  to  the  boat,  and  stood 
by  while  he  made  his  preparations.  They  were 
very  simple.  He  took  a  pine  torch  and  smeared 
it  all  over  with  pitch ;  then  put  his  lucifer-box 
in  his  bosom  and  took  his  crutch.  His  face  was 
drawn  pitiably,  but  his  closed  lips  betrayed  un- 
shaken and  unshakable  resolution.  He  shoul- 
dered his  crutch  and  hobbled  up  as  far  as  the 
cavern.     Here  Helen  interposed. 

"Don't  you  go  toiling  up  the  hill,"  said  she. 
"  Give  me  the  lucifers  and  the  torch,  and  let  me 
light  the  beacon.  I  shall  be  there  in  half  the 
time  you  will." 

"  Thank  you !  thank  you  !"  said  Hazel,  eager- 
ly, not  to  say  violently. 

He  wanted  it  done  ;  but  it  killed  him  to  do  it. 
He  then  gave  her  his  instructions. 

"It  is  as  big  as  a  haystack,"  said  he,  "and  as 
dry  as  a  chip ;  and  there  are  eight  bundles  of 
straw  placed  expressly.  Light  the  bundles  to 
windward  first,  then  the  others  ;  it  will  soon  be 
all  in  a  blaze," 


"  Meanwhile,"  said  Helen,  "you  prepare  our 
supper.     I  feel  quite  faint — for  want  of  it." 

Hazel  assented. 

"  It  is  the  last  we  shall — "  he  was  going  to  say 
it  was  the  last  they  would  eat  together  ;  but  his 
voice  failed  him,  and  he  hobbled  into  the  cavern, 
and  tried  to  smother  his  emotion  in  work.  He 
lighted  the  fire,and  blew  it  into  a  flame  with 
a  palmetto  leaf/  and  then  he  sat  down  awhile, 
very  sick  at  heart ;  then  he  got  up  and  did  the 
cooking,  sighing  all  the  time  ;  and,  just  when 
he  was  beginning  to  wonder  why  Helen  was  so 
long  lighting  eight  bundles  of  straw,  she  came 
in,  looking  pale. 

"Is  it  all  right?"  said  he. 

"Go  and  look,"  said  she.  "No, let  us  have 
our  supper  first." 

Neither  had  any  appetite :  they  sat  and  kept 
casting  strange  looks  at  one  another. 

To  divert  this  anyhow,  Hazel  looked  up  at  the 
roof,  and  said  faintly,  "  If  I  had  known,  I  would 
have  made  more  haste  and  set  pearl  there  as  well." 

"  What  does  that  matter?"  said  Helen,  look- 
ing down. 

"Not  much,  indeed,"  replied  he,  sadly.  "  I 
am  a  fool  to  utter  such  childish  regrets  ;  and, 
more  than  that,  I  am  a  mean  selfish  cur  to  have 
a  regret.  Come,  come,  we  can't  eat ;  let  us  go 
round  the  Point  and  see  the  waves  reddened  by 
the  beacon  that  gives  you  back  to  the  world  you 
were  born  to  embellish." 

Helen  said  she  would  go  directly.  And  her 
languid  reply  contrasted  strangely  with  his  ex- 
citement. She  played  with  her  supper,  and 
wasted  time  in  a  very  unusual  way,  until  he  told 
her  plump  she  was  not  really  eating,  and  he  could 
wait  no  longer,  he  must  go  and  see  how  the  bea- 
con was  burning. 

"Oh,  very  well, "  said  she ;  and  they  went  down 
to  the  beach. 

She  took  his  crutch  and  gave  it  to  him.  This 
little  thing  cut  him  to  the  heart.  It  was  the  first 
time  she  had  accompanied  him  so  far  as  that 
without  offering  herself  to  be  his  crutch.  He 
sighed  deeply,  as  he  put  the  crutch  under  his 
arm  ;  but  he  was  too  proud  to  complain,  only  he 
laid  it  all  on  the  approaching  steamboat. 

The  subtle  creature  by  his  side  heard  the  sigh, 
and  smiled  sadly  at  being  misunderstood, — but 
what  man  could  understand  her?  They  hardly 
spoke  till  they  reached  the  Point.  The  waves 
glittered  in  the  moonlight ;  there  was  no  red 
light  on  the  water. 

"Why,  what  is  this?"  said  Hazel.  "You 
can't  have  lighted  the  bonfire  in  eight  places,  as 
I  told  you." 

She 'folded  her  arms  and  stood  before  him  in 
an  attitude  of  defiance  ;  all  but  her  melting  eye. 

"I  have  not  lighted  it  at  all,"  said  she. 

Hazel  stood  aghast.  "  What  have  I  done  ?" 
he  cried.  "  Duty,  manhood,  every  thing  de- 
manded that  I  should  light  that  beacon,  and  I 
trusted  it  to  you." 

Helen's  attitude  of  defiance  melted  away  :  she 
began  to  cower,  and  hid  her  blushing  face  in  her 
hands.  Then  she  looked  up  imploringly.  Then 
she  uttered  a  wild  and  eloquent  cry,  and  fled 
from  him  like  the  wind. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


101 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

That  cloud  was  really  the  smoke  of  the 
Springbok,  which  had  mounted  into  air  so  thin 
that  it  could  rise  no  higher.  The  boat  herself 
was  many  miles  to  the  northward,  returning  full 
of  heavy  hearts  from  a  fruitless  search.  She 
came  back  in  a  higher  parallel  of  latitude,  in- 
tending afterwards  to  steer  N.W.  to  Easter  Isl- 
and. Then  the  life  was  gone  out  of  the  ship ;  the 
father  was  deeply  dejected,  and  the  crew  could 
no  longer  feign  the  hope  they  did  not  feel. 
Having  pursued  the  above  course  to  within  four 
hundred  miles  of  Juan  Fernandez,  General  Rol- 
leston  begged  the  captain  to  make  a  bold  devia- 
tion to  the  S.W.,  and  then  see  if  they  could 
find  nothing  there  before  going  to  Easter  Island. 

Captain  Moreland  was  very  unwilling  to  go  to 
the  S.W.,  the  more  so  as  coal  was  getting  short. 
However,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  refuse  General 
Rolleston  any  thing.  There  was  a  northerly 
breeze.  He  had  the  fires  put  out,  and,  covering 
the  ship  with  canvas,  sailed  three  hundred  miles 
S.W.  But  found  nothing.  Then  he  took  in 
sail,  got  up  steam  again,  and  away  for  Easter 
Island.  The  ship  ran  so  fast  that  she  had  got 
into  latitude  thirty-two  by  ten  a.m.  next  morn- 
ing. 

At  lOh.  15m.  the  dreary  monotony  of  this 
cruise  was  broken  by  the  man  at  the  mast-head. 

"On  deck  there!" 

"Hullo!" 

"  The  schooner  on  our  weather-bow  !" 

"  Well,  what  of  her?" 

"She  has  luffed." 

"  Well,  what  o'that?" 

"  She  has  altered  her  course." 

"How  many  points?" 

"  She  Avas  sailing  S.E.,  and  now  her  head  is 
N.E." 

"That  is  curious." 

General  Rolleston,  who  had  come  and  listened 
with  a  grain  of  hope,  now  sighed  and  turned 
away. 

The  captain  explained  kindly  that  the  man 
was  quite  right  to  draw  his  captain's  attention 
to  the  fact  of  a  trading-vessel  altering  her  course. 
"There  is  a  sea-grammar,  General,"  said  he; 
"and,  when  one  seaman  sees  another  violate  it, 
he  concludes  there  is  some  reason  or  other. 
Now,  Jack,  what  d'ye  make  of  her  ?" 

"I  can't  make  much  of  her;  she  don't  seem 
to  know  her  own  mind,  thnt  is  all.  At  ten 
o'clock  she  was  bound  for  Valparaiso  or  the  Isl- 
and. But  now  she  has  come  about  and  beating 
to  windward." 

"Bound  for  Easter  Island?" 
■     "Idunno." 

"  Keep  your  eye  on  her.' 

"Ay,  ay,  sir." 

Captain  Moreland  told  General  Rolleston  that 
very  few  ships  went  to  Easter  Island,  which  lies 
in  a  lovely  climate,  but  is  a  miserable  place  ;  and 
he  was  telling  the  General  that  it  is  inhabited  by 
savages  of  a  low  order,  who  half  worship  the  rel- 
ics of  masonry  left  by  their  more  civilized  pred- 
ecessors, when  Jack  hailed  the  deck  again. 

"Well,"  said  the  captain. 

"I  think  she  is  bound  for  the  Springbok." 

The  soldier  received  this  conjecture  with  as- 
tonishment and  incredulity  not  to  be  wondered 
at.     The  steam-boat  headed  N.  W.,  right  in  the 


wind's  eye.  Sixteen  miles  off,  at  least,  a  ship 
was  sailing  N.  E.  So  that  the  two  courses  might 
be  represented  thus : — 


And  there  hung  in  the  air,  like  a  black  mark 
against  the  blue  sky,  a  fellow,  whose  oracular 
voice  came  down  and  said  B  was  endeavoring 
to  intercept  A. 

Nevertheless,  time  confirmed  the  conjecture ; 
the  schooner,  having  made  a  short  board  to  the 
N.E.,  came  about,  and  made  a  long  board  due 
west,  which  was  as  near  as  she  could  lie  to  the 
wind.  On  this  Captain  Moreland  laid  the  steam- 
boat's head  due  north.  This  brought  the  vessels 
rapidly  together. 

When  they  were  about  two  miles  distant,  the 
stranger  slackened  sail  and  hove  to,  hoisting 
stars  and  stripes  at  her  mizzen.  The  union-jack 
went  up  the  shrouds  of  the  Springbok  directly, 
and  she  pursued  her  course,  but  gradually  slack- 
ened her  steam. 

General  Rolleston  walked  the  deck  in  great 
agitation,  and  now  indulged  in  wild  hopes,  which 
Captain  Moreland  thought  it  best  to  discourage 
at  once. 

"Ah,  sir,"  he  said  ;  "don'Uyou  run  into  the 
other  extreme,  and  imagine  he  has  come  on  our 
business.  It  is  at  sea  as  it  is  ashore  :  if  a  man 
goes  out  of  his  course  to  speak  to  you,  it  is  for 
his  own  sake,  not  yours.  This  Yankee  has  got 
men  sick  with  scurvy,  and  is  come  for  lime-juice. 
Or  his  water  is  out.    Or — hallo,  savages  aboard." 

It  was  too  true.  The  schooner  had  a  cargo  of 
savages,  male  and  female  ;  the  males  were  near- 
ly naked,  but  the  females,  strange  to  say,  were 
dressed  to  the  throat  in  ample  robes,  with  broad 
and  flowing  skirts,  and  had  little  coronets  on 
their  heads.  As  soon  as  the  schooner  hove  to, 
the  fiddle  had  struck  up,  and  the  savages  were 
now  dancing  in  parties  of  four ;  the  men  doing 
a  sort  of  monkey  hornpipe  in  quick  pace,  with 
their  hands  nearly  touching  the  ground ;  the 
women,  on  the  contrary,  erect  and  queenly,  swept 
about  in  slow  rhythm,  with  most  graceful  and 
coquettish  movements  of  the  arms  and  hVnds, 
and  bewitching  smiles. 

The  steam-boat  came  alongside,  but  at  a  cer- 
tain distance,  to  avoid  all  chance  of  collision ; 
and  the  crew  clustered  at  the  side  and  cheered 
the  savages  dancing.  The  poor  General  was 
forgotten  at  the  merry  sight. 

Presently  a  negro  in  white  cotton,  with  a  face 
blacker  than  the  savages,  stepped  forward  and 
hoisted  a  board,  on  which  was  printed  very  large, 
Are  you 

Having  allowed  this  a  moment  to  sink  into  the 
mind,  ne  reversed  the  board,  and  showed  these 
words,  also  printed  large,  The  Springbok  ? 

There  was  a  thrilling  murmur  on  board  ;  and, 
after  a  pause  of  surprise,  the  question  was  answer- 
ed by  a  loud  cheer  and  waving  of  hats. 

The  reply  was  perfectly  understood ;  almost  im- 
mediately a  boat  was  lowered  by  some  novel  ma- 
chinery, and  pulled  towards  the  steamer.  There 
were  two  men  in  it :  the  skipper  and  the  negro. 
The  skipper  came  up  the  side  of  the  Springbok. 


102 


FOUL  PLAY. 


He  was  loosely  dressed  in  some  light  drab-colored 
stuff  and  a  huge  straw  hat ;  a  man  with  a  long 
Puritanical  head,  a  nose  inclined  to  be  aquiline, 
a  face  bronzed  by  weather  and  heat,  thin  resolute 
lips,  and  a  square  chin.  But  for  a  certain  breadth 
between  his  keen  gray  eyes,  which  revealed  more 
intellect  than  Cromwell's  Ironsides  were  encum- 
bered with,  he  might  have  passed  for  one  of  that 
hard-praying,  harder-hitting  fraternity. 

He  came  on  deck,  just  touched  his  hat,  as  if 
to  brush  away  a  fly,  and,  removing  an  enormous 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  said,  "  Wal,  and  so  this  is 
the  Springbok.  Spry  little  boat  she  is;  how 
many  knots  can  ye  get  out  of  her  now  ?  Not  that 
I  am  curious." 

"About  twelve  knots." 

"  And  when  the  steam's  off  the  bile,  how  many 
can  you-sail  ?     Not  that  it  is  my  business." 

"  Eight  or  nine.     What  is  your  business  ?" 

1 '  Hum !  You  have  been  over  some  water  look- 
ing for  that  gal.     Where  do  ye  hail  from  last?" 

"The  Society  Islands.  Did  you  board  me  to 
hear  me  my  catechism  ?" 

"  No,  I  am  not  one  of  your  prying  sort.  Where 
are  ye  bound  for  now?" 

"I  am  bound  for  Easter  Island." 

"  Have  you  heard  any  thing  of  the  gal  ?" 

"No." 

"  And  when  do  ye  expec'  to  go  back  to  Eng- 
land as  wise  as  ye  came?" 

"  Never  while  the  ship  can  swim,"  cried  More- 
land,  angrily,  to  hide  his  despondency  from  this 
stranger.  "And  now  it  is  my  turn,  I  think. 
What  schooner  is  this?  by  whom  commanded, 
and  whither  bound  ?" 

"  The  Julia  Dodd  ;  Joshua  Fullalove:  bound 
for  Juan  Fernandez  with  the  raw  material  of 
civilization  — look  at  the  varmint  skippin' — and 
a  printing-press ;  an'  that's  the  instrument  of 
civilization,  I  rather  think." 

"Well,  sir;  and  why  in  Heaven's  name  did 
you  change  your  course  ?" 

"  Wal,  I  reckon  I  changed  it — to  tell  vou  a 
lie." 

"To  tell  us  a  lie?" 

"  Ay ;  the  darnedest  etarnal  lie  that  ever  came 
out  of  a  man's  mouth.  Fust,  there's  an  unknown 
island  somewheres  about.  That's  a  kinder  flour- 
ish beforehand.  On  that  island  there's  an  Eng- 
lish gal  wrecked." 

Exclamations  burst  forth  on  every  side  at  this. 

"  And  she  is  so  tarnation  'cute,  she  is  flying 
dttcks  all  over  creation  with  a  writing  tied  to 
their  legs,  telling  the  tale,  and  setting  down  the 
longitude.  There,  if  that  isn't  a  buster,  I  hope 
I  may  never  live  to  tell  another." 

"God  bless  you,  sir,"  cried  the  General. 
"Where  is  the  island?" 

"  What  island  ?" 

"The  island  where  my  child  is  wrecked." 

"  What,  are  you  the  gal's  father  ?"  said  Josh- 
ua, with  a  sudden  touch  of  feeling. 

"  I  am,  sir.  Pray  withhold  nothing  fft)m  me 
you  know." 

"  Why,  Cunnle,"  said  the  Yankee,  soothingly ; 
"don't  I  tell  you  it's  a  buster?  However,  the 
lie  is  none  o'  mine.  It's  that  old  cuss  Skinflint 
set  it  afloat ;  he  is  always  pisoning  these  peace- 
ful waters." 

Rolleston  asked  eagerly  who  Skinflint  was, 
and  where  he  could  be  found. 

"Wal,  he  is  a  sorter  sea  Jack-of-all-trades, 


etarnally  cruising  about  to  buy  gratis — those  he 
buys  of  call  it  stealing.  Got  a  rotten  old  cutter, 
manned  by  his  wife  and  family.  They  get  coal 
out  of  me  for  fur,  and  sell  the  coal  at  double  my 
price  ;  they  kill  seals  and  dress  the  skins  aboard ; 
kill  fish  and  salt  'em  aboard.  Ye  know  when 
that  fam'ly  is  at  sea  by  the  smell  that  pervades 
the  briny  deep  an'  heralds  their  approach.  Yes- 
terday the  air  smelt  awful :  so  I  said  to  Vespa- 
sian here,  'I  think  that  sea-skunk  is  out,  for  there's 
something  a  pisoning  the  cerulean  waves  an'  suc- 
cumambient  air.'  We  hadn't  sailed  not  fifty 
miles  more  before  we  run  agin  him.  Their 
clothes  were  drying  all  about  the  rigging.  Hails 
me,  the  vai'mint  does.  Vesp  and  I,  we  work  the 
printing-press  together,  an'  so  order  him  to  loo- 
ward,  not  to  taint  our  Otaheitans,  that  stink  of 
ile  at  home,  but  I  had  'em  biled  before  I'd  buy 
'em,  an'  now  they're  vilets.  '  Wal  now,  Skin- 
flint,' says  I ;  'I  reckon  you're  come  to  bring 
me  that  harpoon  o'  mine  you  stole  last  time  you 
was  at  my  island  ?'  '  I  never  saw  your  harpoon,' 
says  he,  '  I  want  to  know  have  you  come  across 
the  Springbok  ?'  •  Mebbe  I  have,'  says  I ;  '  why 
do  you  ask?'  'Got  news  for  her,' says  he  ; 
1  and  can't  find  her  nowheres.'  So  then  we  set  to 
and  fenced  a  bit  ;  and  this  old  varmint,  to  put 
me  off  the  truth,  told  me  the  buster.  A  month 
ago  or  more  he  was  boarded— by  a  duck.  And 
this  yar  duck  had  a  writing  tied  to  his  leg,  and 
this  yar  writing  said  an  English  gal  was  wrecked 
on  an  island,  and  put  down  the  very  longitude. 
'Show  me  that  duck,' says  I,  ironical.  'D'ye 
take  us  for  fools  ?'  says  he ;  'we  ate  the  duck 
for  supper.'  '  That  was  like  ye,'  says  I ;  '  if  an 
angel  brought  your  pardon  down  from  heights 
celestial,  you'd  roast  him,  and  sell  his  feathers 
far  swan's-down  ;  mebbe  ye  ate  the  writing  ?  I 
know  y'are  a  hungry  lot.'  '  The  writing  is  in 
my  cabin,'  says  he.  '  Show  it  me,'  says  I,  '  an' 
mebbe  I'll  believe  ye. '  No,  the  cuss  would  only 
show  it  to  the  Springbok;  'There's  a  reward,' 
says  he.  '  What's  the  price  of  a  soul  aboard 
3"our  cutter  ?'  I  asked  him.  '  Have  you  parted 
with  yours,  as  you  want  to  buy  one  ?'  says  he. 
'  Not  one  as  would  carry  me  right  slick  away  to 
everlasting  blazes,'  says  I.  So  then  we  said 
good-morning,  and  he  bore  away  for  Valparaiso. 
Presently  I  saw  your  smoke,  and  that  you  would 
never  overhaul  old  Stinkamalee  on  that  track ; 
so  I  came  about.  Now  I  tell  ye  that  old  cuss' 
knows  where  the  gal  is,  and  mebbe  got  her  tied 
hand  and  fut  in  his  cabin.  An'  I'm  kinder  sot 
on  English  gals  ;  they  put  me  in  mind  of  butter 
and  honey.  Why,  my  schooner  is  named  after 
one.  So  now,  Cunnle,  clap  on  steam  for  Valpa- 
raiso, and  you'll  soon  overhaul  the  old  stink-pot; 
you  may  know  him  by  the  brown  patch  in  his 
jib-sail,  the  ontidy  varmint.  Pull  out  your  purse 
and  bind  him  to  drop  lying  about  ducks  and 
geese,  and  tell  you  the  truth  ;  he  knows  where 
your  gal  is,  I  swan.  Wal,  ye  needn't  smother 
me."  For  by  this  time  he  was  the  centre  of  a 
throng,  all  pushing  and  driving  to  catch  his 
words. 

Captain  Moreland  begged  him  to  step  down 
into  his  cabin,  and  there  the  General  thanked 
him  with  great  warmth  and  agitation  for  his 
humanity.  "We  will  follow  your  advice  at 
once,"  he  said.  "  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  offer 
you,  without  offense  ?" 

"Wal,"  drawled  the  Yankee,  '  I  guess  not. 


FOUL  PLAY. 


103 


Business  an'  sentiment  won't  mix  nohow.  Busi- 
ness took  me  to  the  island,  sentiment  brought 
me  here.  I'll  take  a  shake-hand  all  round  :  and 
if  y'have  got  live  fowls  to  spare,  I'll  be  obliged 
to  you  for  a  couple.  Ye  see  I'm  colonizing  that 
darned  island  :  an'  sowing  in  with  grain  an'  Ota- 
heitans,  an'  niggers,  an'  Irishmen,  an'  all  the 
cream  o'  creation  ;  an'  I'd  be  glad  of  a  couple  o' 
Dorkins  to  crow  the  lazy  varmint  up." 

This  very  moderate  request  was  heartily  com- 
plied with,  and  the  acclamation  and  cheers  of 
the  crew  followed  this  strange  character  to  his 
schooner,  at  which  his  eye  glistened  and  twinkled 
with  quiet  satisfaction,  but  he  made  it  a  point  of 
honor  not  to  move  a  muscle. 

Before  he  could  get  under  way,  the  Spring- 
bok took  a  circuit,  and,  passing  within  a  hun- 
dred yards  of  him,  fired  a  gun  to  leeward  by 
way  of  compliment,  set  a  cloud  of  canvas,  and 
tore  through  the  water  at  her  highest  speed. 
Outside  the  port  of  Valparaiso  she  fell  in  with 
Skinflint,  and  found  him  not  quite  so  black  as 
he  was  painted.  The  old  fellow  showed  some 
parental  feeling,  produced  the  bag  at  once  to 
General  Rolleston,  and  assured  him  a  wearied 
duck  had  come  on  board,  and  his  wife  had  de- 
tached the  writing. 

They  took  in  coal:  and  then  ran  westward 
once  more,  every  heart  beating  high  with  con- 
fident hope. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

Helen's  act  was  strange,  and  demands  a 
word  of  explanation.  If  she  had  thought  the 
steam-boat  was  a  strange  vessel,  she  would  have 
lighted  the  bonfire  :  if  she  had  known  her  father 
was  on  board,  she  would  have  lighted  it  with  joy. 
But  Hazel,  whose  every  word  now  was  gospel, 
had  said  it  was  Arthur  Wardlaw  in  that  boat, 
searching  for  her. 

Still,  so  strong  is  the  impulse  in  all  civilized 
beings  to  get  back  to  civilization,  that  she  went 
up  that  hill  as  honestly  intending  to  light  the 
bonfire  as  Hazel  intended  it  to  be  lighted.  But, 
as  she  went,  her  courage  cooled,  and  her  feet  be- 
gan to  go  slowly,  as  her  mind  ran  swiftly  forward 
to  consequence  upon  consequence.  To  light  that 
bonfire  was  to  bring  Arthur  Wardlaw  down  upon 
herself  and  Hazel  living  alone  and  on  intimate 
terms.  Arthur  would  come  and  claim  her  to 
his  face.  Could  she  disallow  his  claim  ?  Grati- 
tude would  now  be  on  his  side  as  well  as  good 
faith.  What  a  shock  to  Arthur  !  What  torture 
for  Hazel !  torture  that  he  foresaw,  or  why  the 
face  of  anguish,  that  dragged  even  now  at  her 
heart-strings  ?  And  then  it  could  end  only  in 
one  way ;  she  and  Hazel  would  leave  the  island 
in  Arthur's  ship.  What  a  voyage  for  all  three  ! 
She  stood  transfixed  by  shame  ;  her  whole  body 
blushed  at  what  she  saw  coming.  Then  once 
more  Hazel's  face  rose  before  her  ;  poor  crippled 
Hazel !  her  hero  and  her  patient.  She  sat  down 
and  sighed,  and  could  no  more  light  the  fire  than 
she  could  have  put  it  out  if  another  had  lighted  it. 

She  was  a  girl  that  could  show  you  at  times 
she  had  a  father  as  well  as  a  mother :  but  that 
evening  she  was  all  woman. 

They  met  no  more  that  night. 

In  the  morning  his  face  was  haggard,  and 
showed  a  mental  struggle  ;  but  hers  placid  and 


quietly*''  beaming,  for  the  very  reason  that  she 
had  made  a  great  sacrifice.  She  was  one  of  that 
sort. 

And  this  difference  between  them  was  a  fore- 
taste. 

His  tender  conscience  pricked  him  sore.  To 
see  her  sit  beaming  there,  when,  if  he  had  done 
his  own  duty  with  his  own  hands  she  would  be 
on  her  way  to  England !  Yet  his  remorse  was 
dumb;  for,  if  he  gave  it  vent,  then  he  must 
seem  ungrateful  to  her  for  her  sacrifice. 

She  saw  his  deep  and  silent  compunction,  ap- 
proved it  secretly  ;  said  nothing,  but  smiled,  and 
beamed,  and  soothed.  He  could  not  resist  this  : 
and  wild  thrills  of  joy  and  hope  passed  through 
him,  visions  of  unbroken  bliss  far  from  the  world. 

But  this  sweet  delirium  was  followed  by  mis- 
givings of  another  kind.  And  here  she  was  at 
fault.     What  could  they  be  ? 

It  was  the  voice  of  conscience  telling  him  that 
he  was  really  winning  her  love,  once  inaccessi- 
ble ;  and,  if  so,  was  bound  to  tell  her  his  whole 
story,  and  let  her  judge  between  him  and  the 
world,  before  she  made  any  more  sacrifices  for 
him.  But  it  is  hard  to  stop  great  happiness: 
harder  to  stop  it  and  ruin  it.  Every  night,  as 
he  lay  alone,  he  said,  "  To-morrow  I  will  tell 
her  all,  and  make  her  the  judge."  But  in  the 
morning  her  bright  face  crushed  his  purpose  by 
the  fear  of  clouding  it.  His  limbs  got  strong  and 
his  heart  got  weak  :  and  they  used  to  take  walks, 
and  her  head  came  near  his  shoulder :  and  the 
path  of  duty  began  to  be  set  thicker  than  ever 
with  thorns ;  and  the  path  of  love  with  prim- 
roses.  One  day  she  made  him  sit  to  her  for  his 
portrait ;  and,  under  cover  of  artistic  enthusiasm, 
told  him  his  beard  was  godlike,  and  nothing  in 
the  world  could  equal  it  for  beauty.  She  never 
saw  but  one  at  all  like  it,  poor  Mr.Seaton's  ;  but 
even  that  was  very  inferior  to  his  :  and  then  she 
dismissed  the  sitter:  "Poor  thing,"  said  she, 
"you  are  pale  and  tired."  And  she  began  to 
use  ornaments :  took  her  bracelets  out  of  her 
bag,  and  picked  pearls  out  of  her  walls,  and 
made  a  coronet,  under  which  her  eyes  flashed  at 
night  with  superlative  beauty, — conscious  beauty 
brightened  by  the  sense  of  being  admired  and 
looked  at  by  the  eye  she  desired  to  please. 

She  revered  him.  He  had  improved  her  char- 
acter, and  she  knew  it,  and  often  told  him  so. 
"  Call  me  Hazelia,"  she  said ;  "  make  me  liker 
you,  still." 

One  day,  he  came  suddenly  through  the  jungle, 
and  found  her  reading  her  prayer-book. 

He  took  it  from  her,  not  meaning  to  be  rude, 
neither,  but  inquisitive. 

It  was  open  at  the  marriage-service,  and  her 
cheeks  were  dyed  scarlet. 

His  heart  panted.  He  was  a  clergyman  ;  he 
could  read  that  service  over  them  both. 

Would  it  be  a  marriage  ? 

Not  in  England  :  but  in  some  countries  it 
would.  Why  not  in  this  ?  This  was  not  Eng- 
land. 

He  looked  up.  Her  head  was  averted  ;  she 
was  downright  distressed. 

He  was  sorry  to  have  made  her  blush  :  so  he 
took  her  hand  and  kissed  it  tenderly,  so  tenderly 
that  his  heart  seemed  to  go  into  his  lips.  She 
thrilled  under  it,  and  her  white  brow  sank  upon 
his  shoulder. 

The  sky  was  a  vault  of  purple  with  a  flaming 


104 


FOUL  PLAY. 


topaz  in  the  centre ;  the  sea,  a  heavenly  blue  ; 
the  warm  air  breathed  heavenly  odors  ;  flaming 
macaws  wheeled  overhead  ;  humming  -  birds, 
more  gorgeous  than  any  flower,  buzzed  round 
their  heads,  and  amazed  the  eye  with  delight, 
then  cooled  it  with  the  deep  green  of  the  jungle 
into  which  they  dived. 

It  was  a  Paradise  with  the  sun  smiling  down 
on  it,  and  the  ocean  smiling  up,  and  the  air  im- 
pregnated with  love.     Here  they  were  both  con- 
tent now  to  spend  the  rest  of  their  days — 
'■The  world  forgetting;  by  the  world  forgot." 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

The  Springbok  arrived  in  due  course  at  longi- 
tude 103  deg.  30  min.,  but  saw  no  island.  This 
was  dispiriting  ;  but  still  Captain  Moreland  did 
not  despair. 

He  asked  General  Rolleston  to  examine  the 
writing  carefully,  and  tell  him  was  that  Miss 
Rolleston's  hand-writing. 

The  General  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  nothing  like  my  child's 
hand." 

"Why,  all  the  better,"  said  Captain  More- 
land  ;  "the  lady  has  got  somebody  about  her 
who  knows  a  thing  or  two.  The  man  that  could 
catch  wild  ducks  and  turn  'em  into  postmen  could 
hit  on  the  longitude  somehow ;  and  he  doesn't 
pretend  to  be  exact  in  the  latitude." 

Upon  this  he  ran  northward  400  miles ;  which 
took  him  three  days ;  for  they  stopped  at  night. 

No  island. 

He  then  ran  south  500  miles;  stopping  at 
night. 

No  island. 

Then  he  took  the  vessel  zigzag. 

Just  before  sunset,  one  lovely  day,  the  man  at 
the  mast-head  sang  out : — 

"On  deck  there!" 

"Hullo!" 

"  Something  in  sight ;  on  our  weather-bow." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  Looks  like  a  mast.  No.  Don't  know  what 
it  is." 

"Point." 

The  sailor  pointed  with  his  finger. 

Captain  Moreland  ordered  the  ship's  course  to 
be  altered  accordingly.  By  this  time  General 
Rolleston  was  on  deck.  The  ship  ran  two  miles 
on  the  new  course ;  and  all  this  time  the  top- 
man's  glass  was  levelled,  and  the  crew  climbed 
about  the  rigging,  all  eyes  and  ears. 

At  last  the  clear  hail  came  down. 

"I  can  make  it  out  now,  sir." 

"What  is  it?" 

"It  is  a  palm-tree." 

The  captain  jumped  on  a  gun,  and  waved  his 
hat  grandly,  and  instantly  the  vessel  rang  with 
a  lusty  cheer  ;  and  for  once,  sailors  gabbled  like 
washerwomen. 

They  ran  till  they  saw  the  island  in  the  moon- 
light, and  the  giant  palm,  black,  and  sculptured 
out  of  the  violet  sky ;  then  they  set  the  lead  go- 
ing, and  it  warned  them  not  to  come  too  close. 
They  anchored  off*  the  west  coast. 

At  daybreak  they  moved  slowly  on,  still  sound- 
ng  as  they  went ;  and  rounding  the  west  point, 


General  Rolleston  saw  written  on  the  guanoed 
rocks  in  large  letters  : — 

AN  ENGLISH  LADY   WRECKED   HERE.       HASTE  TO 
HER   RESCUE. 

He  and  Moreland  shook  hands  ;  and  how  their 
eyes  glistened ! 

Presently  there  was  a  stranger  inscription  still 
upon  the  rocks — a  rough  outline  of  the  island  on 
an  enormous  scale,  showing  the  coast-line,  the 
reefs,  the  shallow  water  and  the  deep  water. 
"Ease  her  !  Stop  her !" 
The  captain  studied  this  original  chart  with 
his  glass,  and  crept  slowly  on  for  the  west  pas- 
sage. 

But,  warned  by  the  soundings  marked  on  the 
rock,  he  did  not  attempt  to  go  through  the  pas- 
sage, but  came  to  an  anchor,  and  lowered  his 
boat. 

The  sailors  were  all  on  the  qui  vive  to  land, 
but  the  captain,  to  their  infinite  surprise,  told 
them  only  three  persons  would  land  that  morn- 
ing— himself,  his  son,  and  General  Rolleston. 

The  fact  is,  this  honest  captain  had  got  a  mis- 
giving, founded  on  a  general  view  of  human  na- 
ture. He  expected  to  find  the  girl  with  two  or 
three  sailors,  one  of  them  united  to  her  by  some 
nautical  ceremony,  duly  witnessed,  but  such  as  a 
military  officer  of  distinction  could  hardly  be  ex- 
pected to  approve.  He  got  into  the  boat  in  a 
curious  state  of  delight,  dashed  with  uncomfort- 
able suspense ;  and  they  rowed  gently  for  the 
west  passage. 

As  for  General  Rolleston,  now  it  was  he  need- 
ed all  his  fortitude.  Suppose  the  lady  was  not 
Helen  !  After  all,  the  chances  were  against  her 
being  there.  Suppose  she  was  dead  and  buried 
in  that  island  !  Suppose  that  fatal  disease,  with 
which  she  had  sailed,  had  been  accelerated  by 
hardships,  and  Providence  permitted  him  only 
to  receive  her  last  sigh.  All  these  misgivings 
crowded  on  him  the  moment  he  drew  so  near  the 
object  which  had  looked  all  brightness  so  long  as 
it  was  unattainable.  He  sat  pale  and  brave,  in 
the  boat ;  but  his  doubts  and  fears  were  greater 
than  his  hope. 

They  rounded  Telegraph  Point,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment Paradise  Bay  burst  on  them,  and  Hazel's 
boat  within  a  hundred  yards  of  them.  It  was 
half-tide.  They  beached  the  boat,  and  Gener- 
al Rolleston  landed.  Captain  Moreland  grasped 
his  hand,  and  said,  "Call  us  if  it  is  all  right." 

General  Rolleston  returned  the  pressure  of  that 
honest  hand,  and  marched  up  the  beach  just  as 
if  he  was  going  into  action. 

He  came  to  the  boat.  It  had  an  awning  over 
the  stern,  and  was  clearly  used  as  a  sleeping- 
place.  A  series  of  wooden  pipes  standing  on 
uprights  led  from  this  up  to  the  cliff.  The  pipes, 
were  in  fact  mere  sections  of  the  sago-tree  with 
the  soft  pith  driven  out.  As  this  was  manifest- 
ly a  tube  of  communication,  General  Rolleston 
followed  it  until  he  came  to  a  sort  of  verandah 
with  a  cave  opening  on  it ;  he  entered  the  cave, 
and  was  dazzled  by  its  most  unexpected  beauty. 
He  seemed  to  be  in  a  gigantic  nautilus.  Roof 
and  sides  and  the  very  chimney  were  one  blaza 
of  mother-of-pearl.  But,  after  the  first  start, 
:  brighter  to  him  was  an  old  shawl  he  saw  on  a 
J  nail ;  for  that  showed  it  was  a  woman's  abode. 
He  tore  down  the  old  shawl  and  carried  it  to  the 
light.     He  recognized  it  as  Helen's.     Her  rugs 


FOUL  PLAY. 


105 


were  in  a  corner  ;  lie  rushed  in  and  felt  them  all 
over  with  trembling  hands.  They  were  still 
warm,  though  she  had  left  her  bed  some  time. 
He  came  out  wild  with  joy,  and  shouted  to  More- 
land,  "She  is  alive!  She  is  alive!  She  is 
alive!"    Then  fell  on  his  knees  and  thanked  God. 

A  cry  came  down  to  him  from  above  :  he 
looked  up  as  he  knelt,  and  there  was  a  female 
figure  dressed  in  white,  stretching  out  its  hands  as 
if  it  would  fly  down  to  him.  Its  eyes  gleamed  ;  he 
knew  them  all  that  way  off.  He  stretched  out  his 
hands  as  eloquently,  and  then  he  got  up  to  meet 
her;  but  the  stout  soldier's  limbs  were  stiffer 
than  of  old  ;  and  he  got  up  so  slowly,  that,  ere 
he  could  take  a  step,  there  came  flying  to  him, 
with  little  screams  and  inarticulate  cries,  no  liv- 
ing skeleton,  nor  consumptive  young  lady,  but  a 
grand  creature,  tanned  here  and  there,  rosy  as  the 
morn,  and  full  of  lusty  vigor;  a  body  all  health, 
strength,  and  beauty,  a  soul  all  love.  Sheflung 
herself  all  over  him  in  a  moment,  with  cries  of 
love  unspeakable ;  and  then  it  was,  "Oh,  my  dar- 
ling, my  darling !  Oh,  my  own,  own  !  Ha,  ha, 
ha,  ha!  Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh!  Is  it  you?  is  it?  can  it? 
Papa  !  papa  !"  then  little  convulsive  hands  pat- 
ting him,  and  feeling  his  beard  and  shoulders ; 
then  a  sudden  hail  of  violent  kisses  on  his  head, 
his  eyes,  his  arms,  his  hands,  his  knees.  Then 
a  stout  soldier,  broke\^  down  by  this,  and  sobbing 
for  joy.  "  Oh,  my  child  !  My  flesh  and  blood  ! 
Oh,  oh,  oh  !"  Then  all  manhood  melted  away  ex- 
cept paternity  ;  and  a  father  turned  mother,  and 
clinging,  kissing,  and  rocking  to  and  fro  with  his 
child,  and  both  crying  for  joy  as  if  their  hearts 
would  burst. 

A  sight  for  angels  to  look  down  at  and  rejoice. 

But  what  mortal  pen  could  paint  it? 


CHAPTER  L. 


They  gave  along  time  to  pure  joy  before  either 
of  them  cared  to  put  questions  or  compare  notes. 
But  at  last  he  asked  her,  "Who  was  on  the  isl- 
and besides  her  ?" 

"Oh,"  said  she,  "  only  my  guardian  angel. 
Poor  Mr.  Welch  died  the  first  week  we  were 
here." 

He  parted  the  hair  on  her  brow,  and  kissed  it 
tenderly.     "  And  who  is  your  guardian  angel  ?" 

"  Why,  you  are  now,  my  own  papa :  and  well 
you  have  proved  it.  To  think  of  your  being  the 
one  to  come  at  your  age  !"  ° 

"  Well,  never  mind  me.  Who  has  taken  such 
care  of  my  child  ? — this  the  sick  girl  they  fright- 
ened me  about !' 

"Indeed,  papa,  I  was  a  dying  girl.  My  very 
hand  was  wasted.  Look  at  it  now  ;  brown  as  a 
berry,  but  so  plump  ;  you  owe  that  to  him :  and, 
papa,  I  can  walk  twenty  miles  without  fatigue: 
and  so  strong  :  I  could" take  you  up  in  my  arms 
and  carry,  I  know.  But  I  am  content  to  eat 
you."  (A  shower  of  kisses.)  "  I  hope  you  will 
"like  him." 

"My  own  Helen.  Ah!  I  am  a  happy  old 
man  this  day.     What  is  his  name?" 

"Mr.  Hazel.  He  is  a  clergyman.  Oh,  papa, 
I  hope  you  will  like  him,  for  he  has  saved  my 
life  more  than  once :  and  then  he  has  been  so 
generous,  so  delicate,  so  patient ;  for  I  used  him 
very  ill  at  first ;  and  you  will  find  my  character 


as  much  improved  as  my  health  :  and  all  owing 
to  Mr.  Hazel.  He  is  a  clergyman ;  and  oh,  so 
I  good,  so  humble,  so  clever,  so  self-denying ! 
Ah  !  how  can  I  ever  repay  him  ?" 

"Well,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  this  paragon, 
and  shake  him  by  the  hand.  You  may  imagine 
what  I  feel  to  any  one  that  is  kind  to  my  dar- 
ling.    An  old  gentleman?  about  my  age?" 

"  Oh  no,  papa." 

"Hum!" 

"If  he  had  been  old  I  should  not  be  here; 
j  for  he  has  had  to  fight  for  me  against  cruel 
;  men  with  knives :  and  work  like  a  horse.  He 
i  built  me  a  hut,  and  made  me  this  cave,  and  al- 
'  most  killed  himself  in  mv  service.  Poor  Mr. 
Hazel!" 

"  How  old  is  he  ?" 

"Dearest  papa,  I  never  asked  him  that:  but 
I  think  he  is  four  or  five  years  older  than  me, 
and  a  hundred  years  better  than  I  shall  ever  be, 
I  am  afraid.     What  is  the  matter  darling?" 

"Nothing,  child,  nothing." 

"Don't  tell  me.  Can't  I  read  your  dear 
face  ?" 

"  Come,  let  me  read  yours.  Look  me  in  the 
face,  now:  full." 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulders,  firmly,  but  not 

the  least  roughly,  and  looked  straight  into  her 

hazel  eyes.    She  blushed  at  this  ordeal, — blushed 

scarlet;    but  her  eyes,  pure  as   Heaven,  faced 

!  his  fairly,  though  with  a  puzzled  look. 

He  concluded  this  paternal  inspection  by  kiss- 
j  ing  her  on  the  brow.  "I  was  an  old  fool,"  he 
!  muttered. 

"  What  do  you  say,  dear  papa  ?" 

"Nothing,  nothing.  Kiss  me  again.  Well, 
love,  you  had  better  find  this  guardian  angel  of 
yours,  that  I  may  take  him  by  the  hand  and 
give  him  a  father's  blessing,  and  make  him  some 
little  return  by  carrying  him  home  to  England 
along  with  my  darling." 

"I'll  call  him,  papa.  Where  can  he  be  gone, 
I  wonder  ?"' 

She  ran  out  to  the  terrace,  and  called, — 

"Mr.  Hazel!  Mr.  Hazel!  I  don't  see  him; 
but  he  can't  be  far  off.     Mr.  Hazel !" 

Then  she  came  back  and  made  her  father  sit 
down :  and  she  sat  at  his  knee,  beaming  with 
delight. 

"Ah,  papa,"  said  she,  "it  was  you  who 
loved  me  best  in  England.  It  was  you  that 
came  to  look  for  me." 

"No,"  said  he,  "there  are  others  there  that 
love  you  as  well  in  their  way.  Poor  Wardlaw ! 
on  his  sick-bed  for  you,  cut  down  like  a  flower 
the  moment  he  heard  you  were  lost  on  the  Pros- 
erpine.    Ah,  and  I  have  broken  faith." 

"That  is  a  story,"  said  Helen  ;  "you  couldn't." 

"  For  a  moment,  I  mean  ;  I  promised  the  dear 
old  man — he  furnished  the  ship,  the  men,  and  the 
money  to  find  you.  He  says  you  are  as  much  his 
daughter  as  mine." 

"Well,  but  what  did  you  promise  him?" 
said  Helen,  blushing  and  interrupting  hastily, 
for  she  could  not  bear  the*  turn  matters  were 
taking. 

"  Oh,  only  to  give  you  the  second  kiss  from 
Arthur.  Come,  better  late  than  never."  She 
knelt  before  him,  and  put  out  her  forehead  in- 
stead of  her  lips.  "There,"  said  the  General, 
"that  kiss  is  from  Arthur  Wardlaw,  your  in- 
tended.    Whv,  who  the  deuce  is  this  ?" 


106 


FOUL  PLAY. 


A  young  man  was  standing  wonder-struck  at 
the  entrance,  and  had  heard  the  General's  last 
words;  they  went  through  him  like  a  knife. 
General  Rolleston  stared  at  him. 

Helen  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  pleasure,  and 
said,  "This  is  my  dear  father,  and  he  wants  to 
thank  you — " 

"  I  don't  understand  this,"  said  the  General. 
"  I  thought  you  told  me  there  was  nobody  on 
the  island  but  you  and  your  guardian  angel. 
Did  you  count  this  poor  fellow  for  nobody? 
Why,  he  did  you  a  good  turn  once." 

"Oh  papa!"  said  Helen,  reproachfully. 
"Why,  this  is  my  guardian  angel.  This  is 
Mr.  Hazel." 

The  General  looked  from  one  to  another  in 
amazement,  then  he  said  to  Helen,  "This  your 
Mr.  Hazel  ?" 

"Yes,  papa." 

"  Why,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't 
know  this  man?" 

"Know  him,  papa!  why,  of  course  I  know 
Mr.  Hazel ;  know  him  and  revere  him,  beyond 
all  the  world  except  you." 

The  General  lost  patience.  "Are  you  out 
of  your  senses?"  said  he;  "this  man  here  is 
no  Hazel.  Why,  this  is  James  Seaton — our 
gardener — a  ticket-of-leave  man." 


CHAPTER  LI. 


At  this  fearful  insult  Helen  drew  back  from 
her  father  with  a  cry  of  dismay,  and  then  moved 
towards  Hazel  with  her  hands  extended,  as  if  to 
guard  him  from  another  blow,  and  at  the  same 
time  deprecate  his  resentment.  But  then  she 
saw  his  dejected  attitude ;  and  she  stood  con- 
founded, looking  from  one  to  the  other. 

"I  knew  him  in  a  moment  by  his  beard," 
said  the  General,  coolly. 

"Ah!"  cried  Helen,  and  stood  transfixed. 
She  glared  at  Hazel  and  his  beard  with  dilating 
eyes,  and  began  to  tremble. 

Then  she  crept  back  to  her  father  and  held 
him  tight ;  but  still  looked  over  her  shoulder  at 
Hazel  with  dilating  eyes  and  paling  cheek. 

As  for  Hazel,  his  deportment  all  this  time 
went  far  towards  convicting  him  ;  he  leaned 
against  the  side  of  the  cave,  and  hung  his  head 
in  silence  :  and  his  face  was  ashy  pale.  When 
General  Rolleston  saw  his  deep  distress,  and  the 
sudden  terror  and  repugnance  the  revelation 
seemed  to  create  in  his  daughter's  mind,  he  felt 
sorry  he  had  gone  so  far,  and  said:  "Well, 
well ;  it  is  not  for  me  to  judge  you  harshly ;  for 
you  have  laid  me  under  a  deep  obligation  :  and, 
after  all,  I  can  sec  good  reasons  why  you  should 
conceal  your  name  from  other  people/  But  you 
ought  to  have  told  my  daughter  the  truth." 

Helen  interrupted  him  ;  or,  rather,  she  seemed 
unconscious  he  was  speaking.  She  had  never 
for  an  instant  taken  her  eye  off  the  culprit: 
and  now  she  spoke  to  him: — 

"Who  and  what  are  you,  sir?" 

"  My  name  is  Robert  Pen  fold." 

"Penfold!  Seaton!"  cried  Helen.  "Alias 
upon  alias!"  And  she  turned  to  her  father  in 
despair.  Then  to  Hazel  again.  "Are  you 
what  papa  says?" 

"lam." 


"Oh,  papa  !  papa !"  cried  Helen,  "  then  there 
is  no  truth  nor  honesty  in  all  the  world  !"  And 
she  turned  her  back  on  Robert  Penfold,  and 
|  cried  and  sobbed  upon  her  father's  breast. 

Oh,  the  amazement  and  anguish  of  that  hour ! 
The  pure  affection  and  reverence  that  would 
I  have  blest  a  worthy  man,  wasted  on  a  convict ! 
I  Her  heart's  best  treasures  flung  on  a  dunghill ! 
I  This  is  a  woman's  greatest  loss  on  earth.  And 
;  Helen  sank,  and  sobbed  under  it. 

General  Rolleston,  whose  own  heart  was  forti- 
fied, took  a  shallow  view  of  the  situation  ;  and, 
moreover,  Helen's  face  was  hidden  on  his  bosom  ; 
and  what  he  saw  was  Hazel's  manly  and  intelli- 
gent countenance  pale  and  dragged  with  agony 
and  shame. 

"Come,  come,"  he  said  gently,  "don't  cry 
about  it ;  it  is  not  your  fault :  and  don't  be  too 
hard  on  the  man.  You  told  me  he  had  saved 
your  life." 

"Would  he  had  not!"  said  the  sobbing  girl. 

"There,  Seaton,"  said  the  General.  "Now 
you  see  the  consequences  of  deceit;  it  wipes  out 
the  deepest  obligations."  He  resumed  in  a  dif- 
ferent tone,  "  But  not  with  me.  This  is  a  wom- 
an :  but  I  am  a  man,  and  know  how  a  bad  man 
could  have  abused  the  situation  in  which  I  found 
you  two." 

"Not  worse  than  he  has  done,"  cried  Helen. 

"What  do  you  tell  me,  girl!"  said  General 
Rolleston,  beginning  to  tremble  in  his  turn. 

"What  could  he  do  worse  than  steal  my  es- 
teem and  veneration,  and  drag  my  heart's  best 
feelings  in  the  dirt?  Oh,  where — where  can  I 
ever  look  for  a  guide,  instructor,  and  faithful 
friend  after  this?  He  seemed  all  truth;  and 
he  is  all  a  lie  :  the  world  is  all  a  lie :  would  I 
could  leave  it  this  moment !" 

"  This  is  all  romantic  nonsense,"  said  Gener- 
al Rolleston,  beginning  to  be  angry.  "  You  are 
a  little  fool,  and  in  your  ignorance  and  inno- 
cence have  no  idea  how  well  this  young  fellow 
has  behaved  on  the  whole.  I  tell  you  what ; — 
in  spite  of  this  one  fault,  I  should  like  to  shake 
him  by  the  hand.  I  will  too;  and  then  admon- 
ish him  afterwards." 

"  You  shall  not.  You  shall  not,"  cried  Helen, 
seizing  him  almost  violently  by  the  arm.  ' '  You 
take  him  by  the  hand!  A  monster!  How 
dare  you  steal  into  my  esteem  ?  How  dare  you 
be  a  miracle  of  goodness,  self-denial,  learning, 
and  every  virtue  that  a  lady  might  worship  and 
thank  God  for,  when  all  the  time  you  are  a  vile 
convicted — "  * 

"  I'll  thank  you  not  to  say  that  word,"  said 
Hazel,  firmly. 

"I'll  call  you  what  you  are,  if  I  choose,"  said 
Helen,  defiantly.  But  for  all  that  she  did  not 
do  it.  She  said  piteously,  "What  offense  had 
I  ever  given  you  ?  What  crime  had  I  ever 
committed,  that  you  must  make  me  the  victim 
of  this  diabolical  deceit  ?  Oh,  sir,  what  powers 
of  mind  you  have  wasted  to  achieve  this  victory 
over  a  poor  unoffending  girl !  What  was  your 
motive  ?  What  good  could  come  of  it  to  you  ? 
He  won't  speak  to  me.  He  is  not  even  peni- 
tent. Sullen  and  obstinate !  He  shall  be  taken 
to  England,  and  well  punished  for  it.  Papa,  it  is 
your  duty." 

"Helen,"  said  the  General,  "you  ladies  are 
rather  too  fond  of  hitting  a  man  when  he  is 
down.     And  you  speak  daggers,  as  the  saying 


FOUL  PLAY. 


107 


is ;  and  then  wish  you  had  bitten  your  tongue 
off  sooner.  You  are  my  child,  but  you  are  also 
a  British  subject ;  and,  if  you  charge  me  on 
my  duty  to  take  this  man  to  England  and  have 
him  imprisoned,  I  must.  But,  before  you  go 
that  length,  you  had  better  hear  the  whole  story." 
"  Sir,"  said  Robert  Penfold,  quietly,  "I  will 
go  back  to  prison  this  minute,  if  she  wishes  it." 
"  How  dare  you  interrupt  papa?"  said  Helen, 
haughtily,  but  with  a  great  sob. 

"Come,  come,"  said  the  General,  "be  quiet, 
both  of  you,  and  let  me  say  my  say."  (To  Rob- 
bert.)  "You  had  better  turn  your  head  away, 
for  I  am  a  straight-forward  man,  and  I'm  going 
to  show  her  you  are  not  a  villain,  but  a  mad- 
man. This  Robert  Penfold  wrote  me  a  letter,  im- 
ploring me  to  find  him  some  honest  employment, 
however  menial.  That  looked  well,  and  I  made 
him  my  gardener.  He  was  a  capital  gardener : 
but  one  fine  day  he  caught  sight  of  you.  You 
are  a  very  lovely  girl,  though  you  don't  seem  to 
know  it ;  and  he  is  a  madman  ;  and  he  fell  in  love 
with  you."  Helen  uttered  an  ejaculation  of 
great  surprise.  The  General  i*esumed :  "He 
can  only  have  seen  you  at  a  distance,  or  you 
would  recognize  him  ;  but  (really  it  is  laughable) 
he  saw  you  somehow,  though  you  did  not  see 
him,  and —  Well,  his  insanity  hurt  himself,  and 
did  not  hurt  you.  You  remember  how  he  sus- 
pected burglars,  and  watched  night  after  night 
under  your  window.  That  was  out  of  love  for 
you.  His  insanity  took  the  form  of  fidelity  and 
humble  devotion.  He  got  a  wound  for  his 
pains,  poor  fellow !  and  you  made  Arthur 
Wardlaw  get  him  a  clerk's  place." 

"  Arthur  Wardlaw  !"  cried  Seaton.  "Was 
it  to  him  I  owed  it?"  and  he  groaned  aloud. 

Said  Helen :  "  He  hates  poor  Arthur,  his  ben- 
efactor." Then  to  Penfold:  "If  you  are  that 
James  Seaton,  you  received  a  letter  from  me." 

"  I  did,"  said  Penfold  ;  and,  putting  his  hand 
in  his  bosom,  he  drew  out  a  letter  and  showed 
it  her. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  Helen. 

"Oh  no  !  don't  take  this  from  me,  too,"  said 
he,  piteously. 

General  Rolieston  continued.  "The  day  you 
sailed  he  disappeared ;  and  I  am  afraid  not 
without  some  wild  idea  of  being  in  the  same 
ship  with  you.  This  was  very  reprehensible. 
Do  you  hear,  young  man?  But  what  is  the 
consequence?  You  get  shipwrecked  together, 
and  the  young  madman  takes  such  care  of  you 
that  I  find  you  well  and  hearty,  and  calling  him 
your  guardian  angel.  And — another  thing  to 
his  credit — he  has  set  his  wits  to  work  to  restore 
you  to  the  world.  These  ducks,  one  of  which 
brings  me  here  ?  Of  course  it  was  he  who  con- 
trived that,  not  you.  Young  man  you  must 
learn  to  look  things  in  the  face  ;  this  young  lady 
is  not  of  your  sphere,  to  begin  ;  and,  in  the  next 
place,  she  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Arthur  Wardlaw  ; 
and  I  am  come  out  in  his  steamboat  to  take  her 
to  him.  And  as  for  you,  Helen,  take  my  ad- 
vice ;  think  what  most  convicts  are,  compared 
to  this  one.  Shut  your  eyes  entirely  to  his  folly 
as  I  shall;  and  let  you  and  I  think  only  of  his 
good  deeds,  and  so  make  him  all  the  return  we 
can.  You  and  I  will  go  on  board  the  steamboat 
directly  ;  and,  when  we  are  there,  we  can  tell 
Moreland  there  is  somebody  else  on  the  island." 
He  then  turned  to  Penfold,  and  said:    "My 


daughter  and  I  will  keep  in  the  after  part  of  the 
vessel,  and  any  body  that  likes  can  leave  the 
ship  at  Valparaiso.  Helen,  I  know  it  is  wrong ; 
but  what  can  I  do  ? — I  am  so  happy.  You  are 
alive  and  well ;  how  can  I  punish  or  afflict  a  hu- 
man creature  to-day  ?  and,  above  all,  how  can 
I  crush  this  unhappy  young  man,  without  whom 
I  should  never  have  seen  you  again  in  this 
world  ?  My  daughter !  my  dear  lost  child  !" 
And  he  held  her  at  arm's  length  and  gazed  at 
her,  and  then  drew  her  to  his  bosom  ;  and  for  him 
Robert  Penfold  ceased  to  exist  except  as  a  man 
that  had  saved  his  daughter. 

"Papa,"  said  Helen,  after  a  long  pause, 
"just  make  him  tell  why  he  could  not  trust  to 
me.  Why  he  passed  himself  off  to  me  for  a 
clergyman." 

"I  am  a  clergyman,"  said  Robert  Penfold. 
"Oh!"  said  Helen,  shocked  to  find  him  so 
hardened,  as  she  thought.  She  lifted  her  hands 
to  heaven,  and  the  tears  streamed  from  her  eyes. 
"Well,  sir,"  said  she,  faintly,  "I  see  I  can  not 
reach  your  conscience.  One  question  more  and 
then  I  have  done  with  you  forever.  Why  in  all 
these  months  that  we  have  been  alone,  and  that 
you  have  shown  me  the  nature,  I  don't  say  of  an 
honest  man,  but  of  an  angel, — yes,  papa,  of  an 
angel, — why  could  you  not  show  me  one  humble 
virtue,  sincerity  ?  It  belongs  to  a  man.  Why 
could  you  not  say,  '  I  have  committed  one  crime 
in  my  life,  but  repented  forever ;  judge  by  this 
confession,  and  by  what  you  have  seen  of  me, 
whether  I  shall  ever  commit  another.  Take  me 
as  I  am,  and  esteem  me  as  a  penitent  and  more 
worthy  man  ;  but  I  will  not  deceive  you  and 
pass  for  a  paragon.'  Why  could  you  not  say  as 
much  as  this  to  me?  If  you  loved  me,  why 
deceive  me  so  cruelly  ?" 

These  words,  uttered  no  longer  harshly,  but 
in  a  mournful,  faint,  despairing  voice,  produced 
an  effect  the  speaker  little  exptected.  Robert 
Penfold  made  two  attempts  to  speak,  but  though 
he  opened  his  mouth,  and  his  lips  quivered,  he 
could  get  no  word  out.  He  began  to  choke 
with  emotion ;  and,  though  he  shed  no  tears, 
the  convulsion  that  goes  with  weeping  in  weak-' 
er  natures  overpowered  him  in  a  way  that  was 
almost  terrible. 

"Confound  it!"  said  General  Rolieston,  "this 
is  monstrous  of  you,  Helen;  it  is  barbarous. 
You  are  not  like  your  poor  mother." 

She  was  pale  and  trembling,  and  the  tears 
flowing;  but  she  showed  her  native  obstinacy. 
She  said  hoarsely :  ' '  Papa,  you  are  blind.  He 
must  answer  me.     He  knows  he  must !" 

"I  must,"  said  Robert  Penfold,  gasping  still. 
Then  he  manned  himself  by  a  mighty  effort, 
and  repeated  with  dignity,  "I  will."  There 
was  a  pause  while  the  young  man  still  struggled 
for  composure  and  self-command. 

"  Was  I  not  often  on  the  point  of  telling  you 
my  sad  story?  Then  is  it  fair  to  say  that  I 
should  never  have  have  told  it  you?  But,  oh 
Miss  Rolieston,  you  don't  know  what  agony  it 
may  be  to  an  unfortunate  man  to  tell  the  troth. 
There  are  accusations  so  terrible,  so  defiling,  that, 
when  a  man  has  proved  them  false,  they  stick  to 
him  and  soil  him.  Such  an  accusation  I  labor  un- 
der, and  a  judge  and  a  jury  have  branded  me.  If 
they  had  called  me  a  murderer,  I  would  have  told 
you ;  but  that  is  such  a  dirty  crime.  I  feared 
"the  prejudices  of  the  world.     I  dreaded  to  seo 


JOS 


FOUL  PLAY. 


your  face  alter  to  me.  Yes,  I  trembled,  and  hesi- 
tated, and  asked  myself  whether  a  man  is  bound 
to  repeat  a  foul  slander  against  himself,  even 
when  thirteen  shallow  men  have  said  it,  and 
made  the  lie  law." 

"There," said  General Rolleston,  "I  thought 
how  it  would  be,  Helen ;  you  have  tormented 
him  into  defending  himself,  tooth  and  nail ;  so 
now  we  shall  have  the  old  story  ;  he  is  innocent ; 
I  never  knew  a  convict  that  wasn't,  if  he  found 
a  fool  to  listen  to  him.  I  decline  to  hear  anoth- 
er word.  You  needn't  excuse  yourself  for  chang- 
ing your  name  ;  I  excuse  it,  and  that  is  enough. 
But  the  boat  is  waiting,  and  we  can't  stay  to 
hear  you  justify  a  felony." 

u  I  AM  NOT  A  FELON.       I  AM  A  MARTYR. 


CHAPTER  LH. 

Robert  Penfold  drew  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  and  uttered  these  strange  words  with  a 
sad  majesty  that  was  very  imposing.  But  Gen- 
eral Rolleston,  steeled  by  experience  of  convicts, 
their  plausibility,  and  their  histrionic  powers, 
was  staggered  only  for  a  moment.  He  deign- 
ed no  reply ;  but  told  Helen  Captain  Moreland 
was  waiting  for  her,  and  she  had  better  go  on 
board  at  once. 

She  stood  like  a  statue. 

"No,  papa,  I'll  not  turn  my  back  on  him  till 
I  know  whether  he  is  a  felon  or  a  martyr." 

"My  poor  child,  has  he  caught  you  at  once 
with  a  clever  phrase?  A  judge  and  a  jury  have 
settled  that." 

"They  settled  it  as  you  would  settle  it,  by  re- 
fusing to  hear  me." 

"  Have  I  refused  to  hear  you  ?"  said  Helen. 
"What  do  I  care  for  steamboats  and  captains? 
If  I  stay  here  to  all  eternity,  I'll  know  from  your 
own  lips  and  yWr  own  face  whether  you  are  a 
felon  or  a  martyr.  It  is  no  phrase,  papa.  He  is 
a  felon  or  a  martyr ;  and  lama  most  unfortu- 
nate girl,  or  else  a  base,  disloyal  one." 

"Fiddle-dee,"  said  General  Rolleston,  angri- 
ly. Then,  looking  at  his  watch:  "I  give  you 
five  minutes  to  humbug  us  in — if  you  can." 

Robert  Penfold  sighed  patiently.  But  from 
that  moment  he  ignored  General  Rolleston,  and 
looked  to  Helen  only.  And  she  fixed  her  eyes 
upon  his  face  with  a  tenacity  and  an  intensity 
of  observation  that  surpassed  any  thing  he  had 
ever  seen  in  his  life.  It  dazzled  him ;  but  it 
did  not  dismay  him. 

"Miss  Rolleston,"  said  he,  "my  history  can 
be  told  in  the  time  my  prejudiced  judge  allows 
me.  I  am  a  clergyman,  and  a  private  tutor  at 
Oxford.  One  of  my  pupils  was — Arthur  Ward- 
law.  I  took  an  interest  in  him  because  my  fa- 
ther, Michael  Penfold,  was  in  Wardlaw's  em- 
ploy. This  Arthur  Wardlaw  had  a  talent  for 
mimicry ;  he  mimicked  one  of  the  college  offi- 
cers publicly  and  offensively,  and  was  about  to 
be  expelled,  and  that  would  have  ruined  his  im- 
mediate prospects:  for  his  father  is  just,  but 
stern.  I  fought  hard  for  him,  and,  being  myself 
popular  with  the  authorities,  I  got  him  off.  He 
was  grateful,  or  seemed  to  be,  and  we  became 
greater  friends  than  ever.  We  confided  in  each 
other.  He  told  me  he  was  in  debt  in  Oxford, 
and  much  alarmed  lest  it  should  reach  his  fa- 
ther's ears,  and  lose  him  the  promised  partner- 


ship. I  told  him  I  was  desirous  to  buy  a  small  liv- 
ing near  Oxford,  which  was  then  vacant ;  but  I 
had  only  saved  £400,  and  the  price  was  £1000;  I 
had  no  means  of  raising  the  balance.  Then 
he  said,  'Borrow  £2000  of  my  father;  give  me 
fourteen  hundred  of  it,  and  take  your  own  time 
to  repay  the  £600.  I  shall  be  my  father's  part- 
ner in  a  month  or  two,'  said  he;  'you  can  pay 
us  back  by  instalments.'  I  thought  this  very  kind 
of  him.  I  did  not  want  the  living  for  myself, 
but  to  give  my  dear  father  certain  comforts  and 
country  air  every  week ;  he  needed  it :  he  was 
born  in  the  country.  Well,  I  came  to  London 
about  this  business ;  and  a  stranger  called  on 
me,  and  said  he  came  from  Mr.  Arthur  Ward- 
law,  who  was  not  well  enough  to  come  himself. 
He  produced  a  note  of  hand  for  £2000,  signed 
John  Wardlaw,  and  made  me  indorse  it,  and 
told  me  where  to  get  it  cashed ;  he  would  come 
next  day  for  Arthur  Wardlaw's  share  of  the 
money.  Well,  I  suspected  no  ill ;  would  you  ? 
I  went  and  got  the  note  discounted,  and  locked 
the  money  up.  It  was  not  my  money  :  the  great- 
er part  was  Arthur  Wardlaw's.  That  same  even- 
ing a  policeman  called,  and  asked  several  ques- 
tions, which  of  course  I  answered.  He  then  got 
me  out  of  the  house  on  some  pretense,  and  arrest- 
ed me  as  a  forger." 

"Oh!"  cried  Helen. 

"  I  forgot  the  clergyman  ;  I  was  a  gentleman, 
and  a  man,  insulted,  and  I  knocked  the  officer 
down  directly.  But  his  myrmidons  overpower- 
ed me.  I  was  tried  at  the  Central  Criminal 
Court  on  two  charges.  First,  the  Crown  (as 
they  call  the  attorney  that  draws  the  indictment) 
charged  me  with  forging  the  note  of  hand  ;  and 
then  with  not  forging  it,  but  passing  it,  well 
knowing  that  somebody  else  had  forged  it. 
Well,  Undercliff,  the  expert,  swore  positively 
that  the  forged  note  was  not  written  by  me ; 
and  the  Crown,  as  they  call  it,  was  defeated  on 
that  charge  ;  but  being  proved  a  liar  in  a  court 
of  justice  did  not  abash  my  accuser ;  the  second 
charge  was  pressed  with  equal  confidence.  The 
note,  you  are  to  understand,  was  forged  :  that  ad- 
mits of  no  doubt ;  and  I  passed  it ;  the  question 
was  whether  I  passed  it  knowing  it  to  be  forged. 
How  was  that  to  be  determined  ?  And  here  it 
was  that  my  own  familiar  friend,  in  whom  I  trust- 
ed, destroyed  me.  Of  course,  as  soon  as  I  was 
put  in  prison,  I  wrote  and  sent  to  Arthur  Ward- 
law.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  he  would  not  come 
to  me.  He  would  not  even  write.  Then,  as  the 
time  drew  near,  I  feared  he  was  a  traitor.  I 
treated  him  like  one.  I  told  my  solicitor  to 
drag  him  into  court  as  my  witness,  and  make 
him  tell  the  truth.  The  clerk  went  down  ac- 
cordingly, and  found  he  kept  his  door  always 
locked  ;  but  the  clerk  outwitted  him,  and  served 
him  with  the  subpoena  in  his  bedroom,  before  he 
could  crawl  under  the  bed.  But  he  baffled  us  at 
last ;  he  never  appeared  in  the  witness-box;  and 
when  my  counsel  asked  the  court  to  imprison 
him,  his  father  swore  he  could  not  come :  he 
was  dying,  and  all  out  of  sympathy  with  me. 
Fine  sympathy  !  that  closed  the  lips,  and  con- 
cealed the  truth  ;  one  syllable  of  which  would 
have  saved  his  friend  and  benefactor  from  a  ca- 
lamity worse  than  death.  Is  the  truth  poison, 
that  to  tell  it  makes  a  sick  man  die  ?  Is  the 
truth  hell,  that  a  dying  man  refuses  to  speak  it? 
How  can  a  man  die   better  than   speaking  the 


FOUL  PLAY. 


109 


truth  ?  How  can  he  die  worse  than  withholding 
it  ?  I  believe  his  sickness  and  his  death  were 
lies  like  himself.  For  want  of  one  word  from 
Arthur  Wardlaw  to  explain  that  I  had  every 
reason  to  expect  a  note  of  hand  from  him,  the 
jury  condemned  me.  They  were  twelve  hon- 
est but  shallow  men — invited  to  go  inside  an- 
other man's  bosom,  and  guess  what  was  there. 
They  guessed  that  I  knew  and  understood  a 
thing  which  to  this  hour  I  neither  know  nor 
understand,  by  God!" 

He  paused  a  moment,  then  resumed : — 

"  I  believe  they  founded  their  conjecture  on 
my  knocking  down  the  officer.  There  was  a 
reason  for  you  !  Why,  forgers  and  their  confed- 
erates are  reptiles,  and  have  no  fight  in  them. 
Experience  proves  this.  But  these  twelve  men 
did  not  go  by  experience;  they  guessed,  like 
babies,  and,  after  much  hesitation,  condemned 
me  ;  but  recommended  me  to  mercy.  Mercy ! 
What  mercy  did  I  deserve  ?  Either  I  was  inno- 
cent, or  hanging  was  too  good  for  me.  No  ;  in 
their  hearts  they  doubted  my  guilt ;  and  their 
doubt  took  that  timid  form  instead  of  acquitting 
me.  I  was  amazed  at  the  verdict,  and  asked 
leave  to  tell  the  judge  why  Arthur  Wardlaw  had 
defied  the  court,  and  absented  himself  as  my 
witness.  Had  the  judge  listened  for  one  minute, 
he  would  have  seen  I  was  innocent.  But  no. 
I  was  in  England,  where  the  mouth  of  the  ac- 
cused is  stopped,  if  he  is  fool  enough  to  employ 
counsel.  The  judge  stopped  my  mouth,  as  your 
father  just  now  tried  to  stop  it ;  and  they  brand- 
ed me  as  a  felon. 

"  Up  to  that  moment  my  life  was  honorable 
and  worthy.  Since  that  moment  I  have  never 
wronged  a  human  creature.  Men  pass  from  vir- 
tue to  vice,  from  vice  to  crime  ;  this  is  the  lad- 
der a  soul  goes  down  ;  but  you  are  invited  to  be- 
lieve that  I  jumped  from  innocence  into  a  filthy 
felony,  and  then  jumped  back  again  none  the 
worse,  and  was  a  gardener  that  fought  for  his 
employer,  and  a  lover  that  controlled  his  passion. 
It  is  a  lie — a  lie  that  ought  not  to  take  in  a  child. 
But  prejudice  degrades  a  man  below  the  level  of 
a  child.  I'll  say  no  more ;  my  patience  is  ex- 
hausted by  wrongs  and  insults.  I  am  as  honest 
a  man  as  ever  breathed  ;  and  the  place  where 
we  stand  is  mine,  for  I  made  it.  Leave  it  and 
me  this  moment.  Go  to  England,  and  leave  me 
where  the  animals,  more  reasonable  than  you, 
have  the  sense  to  see  my  real  character.  I'll  not 
sail  in  the  same  ship  with  any  man,  nor  any  wo- 
man either,  who  can  look  me  in  the  face,  and 
take  me  for  a  felon. 

He  swelled  and  cowered  with  the  just  wrath 
of  an  honest  man  driven  to  bay ;  and  his  eye 
shot  black  lightning.     He  was  sublime. 

Helen  cowered  ;  but  her  spirited  old  father 
turned  red,  and  said  haughtily;  "we  take  you 
at  your  word,  and  leave  you,  you  insolent  vag- 
abond !     Follow  me  this  instant,  Helen !" 

And  he  marched  out  of  the  cavern  in  a 
fury. 

But,  instead  of  following  him,  Helen  stood 
stock-still,  and  cowered,  and  cowered  till  she 
seemed  sinking  forward  to  the  ground,  and  she 
got  hold  of  Robert  Penfold's  hand,  and  kissed 
it,  and  moaned  over  it. 

"Martyr!  Martyr!"  she  whispered,  and  still 
kissed  his  hand,  like  a  slave  offering  her  master 
pity,  and  asking  pardon. 


"Martyr!  Martyr!  Every  word  is  true — 
true  as  my  love." 

In  this  attitude,  and  with  these  words  on  her 
lips,  they  were  surprised  by  General  Rollcston, 
who  came  back,  astonished  at  his  daughter  not 
following  him.     Judge  of  his  amazement  now. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  cried,  turning 
pale  with  anger. 

"It  means  that  he  has  spoken  the  truth,  and 
that  I  shall  imitate  him.  He  is  my  martyr,  and 
my  love.  When  others  cast  shame  on  you,  then 
it  is  time  for  me  to  show  my  heart.  James  Seaton, 
I  love  you  for  your  madness  and  your  devotion  to 
her  whom  you  had  only  seen  at  a  distance.  Ah  ! 
that  was  love.  John  Hazel,  I  love  you  for  all 
that  has  passed  between  us.  What  can  any  other 
man  be  to  me  ? — or  woman  to  you  ?  But  most 
of  all,  I  love  you,  Robert  Penfold — my  hero  and 
my  martyr.  When  I  am  told  to  your  face  that 
you  are  a  felon,  then  to  your  face,  I  say  you  are 
my  idol,  my  hero,  and  my  martyr.  Love !  the 
word  is  too  tame,  too  common.  I  worship  you, 
I  adore  you !  How  beautiful  you  are  when  you 
are  angry !  How  noble  you  are  now  you  forgive 
me  !  for  you  do  forgive  me,  Robert ;  you  must, 
you  shall.  No ;  you  will  not  send  your  Helen 
away  from  you  for  her  one  fault  so  soon  repent- 
ed !  Show  me  you  forgive  me ;  show  me  you 
love  me  still,  almost  as  much  as  I  love  you.  He 
is  crying.  Oh,  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  dar- 
ling !"  And  she  was  round  his  neck  in  a  mo- 
ment, with  tears  and  tender  kisses,  the  first  she 
had  ever  given  him. 

Ask  yourself  whether  they  were  returned. 

A  groan,  or  rather  we  might  say,  a  snort  of 
fury,  interrupted  the  most  blissful  moment  either 
of  these  young  creatures  had  ever  kpown.  It 
came  from  General  Rolleston,  now  white  with 
wrath  and  horror. 

"You  villain  !"  he  cried, 

Helen  threw  herself  upon  him,  and  put  her 
hand  before  his  mouth. 

"  Not  a  word  more,  or  I  shall  forget  I  am  your 
daughter.  No  one  is  to  blame  but  I.  I  love 
him.  I  made  him  love  me.  He  has  been  try- 
ing hard  not  to  love  me  so  much.  But  I  am  a 
woman;  and  could  not  deny  myself  the  glory 
and  the  joy  of  being  loved  better  than  woman 
was  ever  loved  before.  And  so  I  am  ;  I  am. 
Kill  me,  if  you  like ;  insult  me,  if  you  will :  but 
not  a  word  against  him,  or  I  give  him  my  hand, 
and  we  live  and  die  together  on  this  island.  Oh, 
papa  !  he  has  often  saved  that  life  you  value  so  ; 
and  I  have  saved  his.  He  is  all  the  world  to  me. 
Have  pity  on  your  child.  Have  pity  on  him  who 
carries  my  heart  in  his  bosom." 

She  flung  herself  on  her  knees,  and  strained 
him  tight,  and  implored  him,  with  head  thrown 
back,  and  little  clutching  hands,  and  eloquent 
eyes. 

Ah !  it  is  hard  to  resist  the  voice  and  look  and 
clinging  of  a  man's  own  flesh  and  blood.  Chil- 
dren are  so  strong — upon  their  knees  ;  their  dear 
faces,  bright  copies  of  our  own,  are  just  the  height 
of  our  hearts  then. 

The  old  man  was  staggered,  was  almost  melt- 
ed. "Give  me  a  moment  to  think,"  said  he,  in 
a  broken  voice.  "This  blow  takes  my  breath 
away." 

Helen  rose,  and  laid  her  head  upon  her  father's 
shoulder,  and  still  pleaded  for  her  love  by  her 
soft  touch  and  her  tears  that  now  flowed  freely. 


no 


FOUL  PLAY. 


He  turned  to  Penfold  with  all  the  dignity  of 
age  and  station.  "Mr.  Penfold,"  said  he,  with 
grave  politeness,  "after  what  ray  daughter  has 
said,  I  must  treat  you  as  a  man  of  honor,  or  I 
must  insult  her.  Well,  then,  I  expect  you  to 
show  me  you  are  what  she  thinks  you,  and  are 
not  what  a  court  of  justice  has  proclaimed  you. 
Sir,  this  young  lady  is  engaged  with  her  own  free 
will  to  a  gentleman  who  is  universally  esteemed, 
and  has  never  been  accused  to  his  face  of  any 
unworthy  act.  Relying  on  her  plighted  word, 
the  Ward  Jaws  have  fitted  out  a  steamer  and 
searched  the  Pacific,  and  found  her.  Can  you, 
as  a  man  of  honor,  advise  her  to  stay  here  and 
compromise  her  own  honor  in  every  way  ?  Ought 
she  to  break  faith  with  her  betrothed  on  account 
of  vague  accusations  made  behind  his  back  ?" 

"  It  was  only  in  self-defense  I  accused  Mr.  Ar- 
thur Wardlaw,"  said  Robert  Penfold. 

General  Rolleston  resumed: — 

*-*  You  said  just  now  there  are  accusations  which 
soil  a  man.  If  you  were  in  my  place,  would  you 
let  your  daughter  marry  a  man  of  honor,  who 
had  unfortunately  been  found  guilty  of  a  fel- 
ony ?" 

Robert  groaned  and  hesitated,  but  he  said, 
"No." 

"  Then  what  is  to  be  done?  She  must  either 
keep  her  plighted  word,  or  else  break  it.  For 
whom  ?  For  a  gentleman  she  esteems  and  loves, 
but  can  not  marry.  A  leper  may  be  a  saint ; 
but  I  would  rather  bury  my  child  than  marry  her 
to  a  leper.  A  convict  may  be  a  saint ;  but  I'll 
kill  her  with  my  own  hand  sooner  than  she  shall 
mar.ry  a  convict :  and  in  your  heart  and  conscience 
you  can  not  blame  me.  Were  you  a  father,  you 
would  do  the  same.  What  then  remains  for  her 
and  me  but  to  keep  faith  ?  and  what  can  you  do 
better  than  leave  her,  and  carry  away  her  ever- 
lasting esteem  and  her  father's  gratitude  ?  It  is 
no  use  being  good  by  halves,  or  bad  by  halves. 
You  must  either  be  a  selfish  villain,  and  urge  her 
to  abandon  all  shame,  and  live  here  on  this  island 
with  you  forever,  or  you  must  be  a  brave  and 
honest  man,  and  bow  to  a  parting  that  is  inevi- 
table. Consider,  sir;  your  eloquence  and  her 
pity  have  betrayed  this  young  lady  into  a  confes- 
sion that  separates  you.  Her  enforced  residence 
here  with  you  has  been  innocent.  It  would  be 
innocent  no  longer,  now  she  has  been  so  mad  as 
to  own  she  loves  you.  And  I  tell  you  frankly, 
if,  after  that  confession,  you  insist  on  going  on 
board  the  steamer  with  her,  I  must  take  you  ; 
humanity  requires  it ;  but  if  I  do,  I  shall  hand 
you  over  to  the  law  as  a  convict  escaped  before 
his  time.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  do  so  as  it  is  ;  but 
that  is  not  certain  ;  I  don't  know  to  what  coun- 
try this  island  belongs.  I  may  have  no  right  to 
capture  you  in  strange  dominions ;  but  an  Eng- 
lish ship  is  England, — and  if  you  set  foot  in  the 
Springbok  you  are  lost.  Now,  then,  you  are  a 
man  of  honor  ;  you  love  my  child  truly,  and  not 
selfishly: — you  have  behaved  nobly  until  to-day  ; 
go  one  step  farther  on  the  right  road ;  call  world- 
ly honor  and  the  God  whose  vows  you  have  taken, 
sir,  to  your  aid,  and  do  your  duty." 

"  Oh,  man,  man !"  cried  Robert  Penfold,  "you 
ask  more  of  me  than  flesh  and  blood  can  bear. 
What  shall  I  say  ?     What  shall  I  do  ?" 

Helen  replied,  calmly :  "Take  my  hand,  and 
let  us  die  together,  since  we  can  not  live  together 
with  honor." 


General  Rolleston  groaned.  "  For  this,  then, 
I  have  traversed  one  ocean,  and  searched  anoth- 
er and  found  my  child.  I  am  nothing  to  her, 
— nothing.  Oh,  who  would  be  a  father !"  He 
sat  down  oppressed  with  shame  and  grief,  and 
bowed  his  stately  head  in  manly  but  pathetic  si- 
lence. 

"Oh,  papa,  papa!"  cried  Helen,  "forgive  your 
ungrateful  child  !"  And  she  kneeled  and  sobbed, 
with  her  forehead  on  his  knees. 

Then  Robert  Penfold,  in  the  midst  of  his  own 
agony,  found  room  in  that  great  suffering  heart 
of  his  for  pity.  He  knelt  down  himself  and  pray- 
ed for  help  in  this  bitter  trial.  He  rose  haggard 
with  the  struggle,  but  languid  and  resigned,  like 
one  whose  death-warrant  has  been  read. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  there  is  but  one  way.  You 
must  take  her  home  ;  and  I  shall  stay  here." 

"Leave  you  all  alone  on  this  island!"  said 
Helen.  "Never!  If  you  stay  here,  I  shall  stay 
to  comfort  you." 

"  I  decline  that  offer.  I  am  beyond  the  reach 
of  comfort." 

"Think  what  you  do,  Robert,"  said  Helen, 
with  unnatural  calmness.  "If  you  have  no  pity 
on  yourself  have  pity  on  us.  Would  you  rob  me 
of  the  very  life  you  have  taken  such  pains  to 
save?  My  poor  father  will  carry  nothing  to 
England  but  my  dead  body.  Long  before  we 
reach  that  country  I  loved  so  well,  and  now 
hate  for  its  stupidity  and  cruelty  to  you,  my 
soul  will  have  flown  back  to  this  island  to  watch 
over  you,  Robert.  You  bid  me  to  abandon  you 
to  solitude  and  despair.  Neither  of  you  two  love 
me  half  as  much  as  I  love  you  both." 

General  Rolleston  sighed  deeply.  "If  Ithought 
that — "said  he.  Then,  in  a  faint  voice,  "My 
own  courage  fails  me  now.  I  look  into  my  heart, 
and  I  see  that  my  child's  life  is  dearer  to  me  than 
all  the  world.  She  was  dying,  they  say.  Sup- 
pose I  send  Moreland  to  the  Continent  for  a  cler- 
gyman, and  marry  you.  Then  you  can  live  on 
this  island  forever.  ,  Only  you  must  let  me  live 
here  too ;  for  I  could  never  show  my  face  again 
in  England  after  acting  so  dishonorably.  It  will 
be  a  miserable  end  of  a  life  passed  in  honor; 
but  I  suppose  it  will  not  be  for  long.  Shame 
can  kill  as  quickly  as  disappointed  love." 

"Robert,  Robert!"  cried  Helen,  in  agony. 

The  martyr  saw  that  he  was  master  of  the  situ- 
ation, and  must  be  either  base  or  very  noble, — 
there  was  no  middle  way.  He  leaned  his  head 
on  his  hands,  and  thought  with  all  his  might. 

"  Hush  !"  said  Helen  :  "  he  is  wiser  than  we 
are.     Let  him  speak." 

"  If  I  thought  you  would  pine  and  die  upon  the 
voyage,  no  power  should  part  us.  But  you  are 
not  such  a  coward.  If  my  life  depended  on 
yours,  would  you  not  live  ?" 

"You  know  I  would." 

"When  I  was  wrecked  on  White  Water  Island, 
you  played  the  man.  Not  one  woman  in  a  thou- 
sand could  have  launched  a  boat,  and  sailed  her 
with  a  boat-hook  for  a  mast,  and — " 

Helen  interrupted  him.  "It  was  nothing; 
I  loved  you.     I  love  you  better  now." 

"  I  believe  it,  and  therefore  I  ask  you  to  rise 
above  your  sex  once  more,  and  play  the  man  for 
me.  This  time  it  is  not  my  life  you  are  to  rescue, 
but  that  which  is  more  precious  still :  my  good 
name." 


]fOUL  PLAY. 


Ill 


"Ah!  that  would  be  worth  living  for!"  cried 
Helen. 

"You  will  find  it  very  hard  to  do;  but  not 
harder  for  a  woman  than  to  launch  a  boat,  and 
sail  her  without  a  mast.  See  my  father,  Michael 
Penfold.  See  UnderclifF,  the  expert.  See  the 
solicitor,  the  counsel.  Sift  the  whole  story; 
and,  above  all,  find  out  why  Arthur  Wardlaw 
dared  not  enter  the  witness-box.  Be  obstinate 
as  a  man;  be  supple  as  a  woman;  and  don't  talk 
of  dying  when  there  is  a  friend  to  be  rescued 
from  dishonor  by  living  and  working." 

"  Die  !  while  I  can  rescue  you  from  death  or 
dishonor !  I  will  not  be  so  base.  Ah,  Robert, 
Robert,  how  well  you  know  me  !" 

"Yes,  I  do  know  you,  Helen.  I  believe  that 
great  soul  of  yours  will  keep  your  body  strong  to 
do  this  brave  work  for  him  you  love,  and  who 
loves  you.  And  as  for  me,  I  am  man  enough  to 
live  for  years  upon  this  island,  if  you  will  only 
promise  me  two  things." 

"I  promise,  then." 

"Never  to  die,  and  never  to  marry  Arthur 
Wardlaw,  until  you  have  reversed  that  lying  sen- 
tence which  has  blasted  me.  Lay  your  hand  on 
your  father's  head,  and  promise  me  that." 

Helen  laid  her  hand  upon  her  father's  head, 
and  said  :  "I  pledge  my  honor  not  to  die,  if  life 
is  possible,  and  never  to  marry  any  man,  until  I 
have  reversed  that  lying  sentence  which  has  blast- 
ed the  angel  I  love." 

"And  I  pledge  myself  to  help  her, "  said  Gen- 
eralRolleston,  warmly,  "for  now  I  know  you  are 
a  man  of  honor.  I  have  too  often  been  deceived 
by  eloquence  to  listen  much  to  that.  But  now 
you  have  proved  by  your  actions  what  you  are. 
You  pass  a  forged  check,  knowing  it  to  be  forged  ! 
I'd  stake  my  salvation  it's  a  lie.  There's  my  hand. 
God  comfort  you !  God  reward  you,  my  noble 
fellow!" 

"  I  hope  he  will,  sir,"  sobbed  Robert  Penfold. 
"  You  are  her  father ;  and  you  take  my  hand ; 
perhaps  that  will  be  sweet  to  think  of  by  and  by ; 
but  no  joy  can  enter  my  heart  now  ;  it  is  broken. 
Take  her  away  at  once,  sir.  Flesh. is  weak. 
My  powers  of  endurance  are  exhausted." 

General  Rolleston  acted  promptly  on  this  ad- 
vice. He  rolled  up  her  rugs,  and  the  things  she 
had  made,  and  Robert  had  the  courage  to  take 
them  down  to  the  boat.  Then  he  came  back, 
and  the  General  took  her  bag  to  the  boat. 

All  this  time  the  girl  herself  sat  wringing  her 
hands  in  anguish,  and  not  a  tear.  It  was  beyond 
that  now. 

As  he  passed  Robert,  the  General  said :  "Take 
leave  of  her  alone.  I  will  come  for  her  in  five 
minutes.  You  see  how  sure  I  feel  you  are  a  man 
of  honor." 

When  Robert  went  in,  she  rose  and  tottered 
to  him,  and  fell  on  his  neck.  She  saw  it  was 
the  death-bed  of  their  love,  and  she  kissed  his 
eyes,  and  clung  to  him.  They  moaned  over 
each  other,  and  clung  to  each  other  in  mute  de- 
spair. 

The  General  came  back,  and  he  and  Robert 
took  Helen,  shivering  and  fainting,  to  the  boat. 
As  the  boat  put  off,  she  awoke  from  her  stupor, 
and  put  out  her  hands  to  Robert  with  one  pierc- 
ing cry. 

They  were  parted. 


CHAPTER  LIU. 


In  that  curious  compound  the  human  heart,  a 
respectable  motive  is  sometimes  connected  with 
a  criminal  act.  And  it  was  so  with  Joseph  Wy- 
lie:  he  had  formed  an  attachment  to  Nancy 
Rouse,  and  her  price  was  three  thousand  pounds. 
This  Nancy  Rouse  was  a  character.  She  was 
General  Rolleston's  servant  for  many  years  ;  her 
place  was  the  kitchen :  but  she  was  a  woman 
of  such  restless  activity,  and  so  wanting  in  the 
proper  pride  of  a  servant,  that  she  would  help  a 
housemaid,  or  a  lady's  maid,  or  do  any  thing  al- 
most, except  be  idle :  to  use  her  own  words,  she 
was  one  as  couldn't  abide  to  sit  mumchance. 
That  fatal  foe  to  domestic  industry,  the  London 
Journal,  fluttered  in  vain  down  her  area,  for  she 
could  not  read.  She  supported  a  sick  mother 
out  of  her  wages,  aided  by  a  few  presents  of 
money  and  clothes  from  Helen  Rolleston,  who 
had  a  great  regard  for  Nancy,  and  knew  what  a 
hard  fight  she  had  to  keep  a  sick  woman  out  of 
her  twenty  pounds  a  year. 

In  love  Nancy  was  unfortunate  ;  her  buxom 
looks  and  sterling  virtues  were  balanced  by  a 
provoking  sagacity,  and  an  irritating  habir  of 
speaking  her  mind.  She  humbled  her  lovers' 
vanity,  one  after  another,  and  they  fled.  Her 
heart  smarted  more  than  once. 

Nancy  was  ambitious  ;  and  her  first  rise  in  life 
took  place  as  follows  :  When  the  Rollestons  went 
to  Australia,  she  had  a  good  cry  at  parting  with 
Helen ;  but  there  was  no  help  for  it :  she  could 
not  leave  her  mother.  However,  she  told  Helen 
she  could  not  stomach  any  other  service,  and- 
since  she  must  be  parted,  was  resolved  to  bet- 
ter herself.  This  phrase  is  sometimes  drolly  ap- 
plied by  servants,  because  they  throw  independ- 
ence into  the  scale.  In  Nancy's  case  it  meant 
setting  up  as  a  washerwoman.  Helen  opened 
her  hazel  eyes  with  astonishment  at  this,  the  first 
round  in  the  ladder  of  Nancy's  ambition  ;  how- 
ever she  gave  her  ten  pounds,  and  thirty  intro- 
ductions, twenty-five  of  which  missed  fire,  and 
with  the  odd  five  Nancy  set  up  her  tub  in  the 
suburbs,  and  by  her  industry,  geniality,  and  fru- 
gality, got  on  tolerably  well.  In  due  course  she 
rented  a  small  house  backed  by  a  small  green, 
and  advertised  for  a  gentleman  lodger.  She 
soon  got  one  ;  and  soon  got  rid  of  him.  How- 
ever, she  was  never  long  without  one. 

Nancy  met  Joseph  Wylie  in  company :  and, 
as  sailors  are  brisk  wooers,  he  soon  became  her 
acknowledged  silitor,  and  made  some  inroad  into 
her  heart,  though  she  kept  on  the  defensive,  warn- 
ed by  past  experience.  *• 

Wylie's  love-making  had  a  droll  feature  about 
it ;  it  was  most  of  it  carried  on  in  the  presence 
of  three  washerwomen,  because  Nancy  had  no 
time  to  spare  from  her  work,  and  Wylie  had  no 
time  to  lose  in  his  wooing,  being  on  shore  for  a 
limited  period.  And  this  absence  of  superfluous 
delicacy  on  his  part  gave  him  an  unfeir  advan- 
tage over  the  tallow-chandler's  foreman,  his 
only  rival  at  present.  Many  a  sly  thrust,  and 
many  a  hearty  laugh,  from  his  female  auditors, 
greeted  his  amorous  eloquence:  but,  for  all  that, 
they  sided  with  him,  and  Nancy  felt  her  impor- 
tance, and  brightened  along  with  her  mates  at 
the  sailor's  approach,  which  was  generally  an^ 
nounced  by  a  cheerful  hail.  He  was  good  com* 
pany,  to  use  Nancy's  own  phrase,  and  she  ac- 


112 


FOUL  PLAY. 


cepted  him  as  a  sweetheart  on  probation.  But, 
when  Mr.  Wylie  urged  her  to  marry  him,  she 
demurred,  and  gave  a  string  of  reasons,  all  of 
which  the  sailor  and  his  allies,  the  subordinate 
washerwomen,  combated  in  full  conclave. 

Then  she  spoke  out :  "  My  lad,  the  wash-tub 
is  a  saddle  as  won't  carry  double.  I've  seen 
poverty  enough  in  my  mother's  house  ;  it  sha'n't 
come  in  at  my  door  to  drive  love  out  o'  window. 
Two  comes  together  with  just  enough  for  two; 
next  year  instead  of  two  they  are  three,  and  one 
of  the  three  can't  work  and  wants  a  servant  ex- 
tra, and  by  and  by  there  is  half  a  dozen,  and  the 
money  coming  in  at  the  spigot  and  going  out  at 
the  bung-hole." 

One  day,  in  the  middle  of  his  wooing,  she 
laid  down  her  iron,  and  said  ;  "  You  come  along 
with  me.  And  I  wonder  how  much  work  will 
be  done  whilst  my  back  is  turned,  for  you  three 
gabbling  and  wondering  what  ever  I'm  a  going  to 
do  with  this  here  sailor." 

She  took  Wylie  a  few  yards  down  the  street, 
and  showed  him  a  large  house  with  most  of  the 
windows  broken.  "There,"  said  she,  "there's 
a  sight  for  a  seafaring  man.  That's  in  Chan- 
cery." 

'"  Well,  it's  better  to  be  there  than  in  H— ," 
said  Wylie,  meaning  to  be  sharper.    - 

"  Wait  till  you've  tried  'em  both,"  said  Nancy. 
Then  she  took  him  to  the  back  of  the  house, 
and  showed  him  a  large  garden  attached  to  it. 

"Now,  Joseph,"  said  she,  "I've  showed  you 
a  lodging-house  and  a  drying-ground  ;  and  I'm 
a  cook\and  a  clear-starcher,  and  I'm  wild  to  keep 
lodgers  and  do  for  'em,  washing  and  all.  Then, 
if  their  foul  linen  goes  out,  they  follows  it ;  the 
same  if  they  has  their  meat  from  the  cook-shop. 
Four  hundred  pounds  a  year  lies  there  a  waiting 
for  me.  I've  been  at  them  often  to  let  me  them 
premises:  but  they  says  no,  we  have  got  no  horder 
from  the  court  to  let.  Which  the  court  would 
rather  see  'em  go  to  rack  an'  ruin  for  nothing  than 
let  'em  to  an  honest  woman  as  would  pay  the 
rent  punctual,  and  make  her  penny  out  of  'em, 
and  nobody  none  the  worse.  And  to  sell  them, 
the  price  is  two  thousand  pounds,  an  if  I  had  it 
I'd  give  it  this  minite :  but  where  are  the  likes  of 
you  and  me  to  get  two  thousand  pounds  ?  But  the 
lawyer  he  says,  '  Miss  Rouse,  from  you  one  thou- 
sand down,  and  the  rest  on  mortgige  at  £45  the 
year,'  which  it  is  dirt  cheap,  I  say.  So  now,  my 
man,  when  that  house  is  mine,  I'm  yours.  I'm 
putting  by  for  it  o'  my  side.  If  you  means  all 
you  say,  why  not  save  a  bit  o'  "yours  ?  Once  I 
get  that  house  and  garden,  you  needn't  go  to  sea 
no  more:  nor  you  sha'n't.  If  I  am  to  be  both- 
ered with  a  man,  let  me  know  where  to  put  my 
finger  on  him  at  all  hours,  and  not  lie  shivering 
and  shaking  at  every  window  as  creeks,  and  him 
out  at  sea.  And  if  you  are  too  proud  to  drive 
the  linen  in  a  light  cart,  why,  I  could  pay  a 
man."  In  short,  she  told  him  plainly  she  would 
not  marry^fill  she  was  above  the  world ;  and  the 
road  to  above  the  world  was  through  that  great 
battered  house  and  seedy  garden  in  chancery. 

Now  it  may  appear  a  strange  coincidence  that 
Nancy's  price  to  Wylie  was  three  thousand  pounds, 
and  Wylie's  to  Wardlaw  was  three  thousand 
pounds :  but  the  fact  is  it  was  a  forced  coinci- 
dence. Wylie,  bargaining  with  Wardlaw,  stood 
out  for  three  thousand  pounds,  because  that  was 
the  price  fo  the  house  and  garden  and  Nancy. 


Now,  when  Wylie  returned  to  England  safe 
after  his  crime  and  his  perils,  he  comforted  him- 
self with  the  reflection  that  Nancy  would  have 
her  house  and  garden,  and  he  should  have  Nan. 
cy. 

But  young  Wardlaw  lay  on  his  sick-bed  :  his 
father  was  about  to  return  to  the  office,  and  the 
gold  disguised  as  copper  was  ordered  up  to  the 
cellars  in  Fenchurch  Street.  There,  in  all  prob- 
ability, the  contents  would  be  examined  ere  long, 
the  fraud  exposed,  and  other  unpleasant  conse- 
quences might  follow  over  and  above  the  loss  of 
the  promised  £3000. 

Wylie  felt  very  disconsolate,  and  went  down 
to  Nancy  Rouse  depressed  in  spirits.  To  his  sur- 
prise she  received  him  with  more  affection  than 
ever,  and,  reading  his  face  in  a  moment,  told  him 
not  to  fret. 

"It  will  be  so  in  your  way  of  life,"  said  this 
homely  comforter ;  "  your  sort  comes  home  emp- 
ty-handed one  day,  and  money  in  both  pockets 
the  next.  I'm  glad  to  see  you  home  at  all,  for 
I've  been  in  care  about  you.  You're  very  wel- 
come, Joe.  If  you  are  come  home  honest  and 
sober,  why,  that  is  the  next  best  thing  to  coming 
home  rich." 

Wylie  hung  his  head  and  pondered  these  words ; 
and  well  he  might,  for  he  had  not  come  home 
either  so  sober  or  so  honest  as  he  went  out,  but 
quite  as  poor. 

However,  his  elastic  spirits  soon  revived  in 
Nancy's  sunshine,  and  he  became  more  in  love 
with  her  than  ever. 

But  when,  presuming  upon  her  affection,  he 
urged  her  to  marry  him  and  trust  to  Providence, 
she  laughed  in  his  face. 

"Trust  to  himprovidence,  you  mean,"  said 
she;  "no,  no,  Joseph.  If  you  are  unlucky,  I 
must  be  lucky,  before  you  and  me  can  come  to- 
gether." 

Then  Wylie  resolved  to  have  his  £3000  at  all 
risks.  He  had  one  great  advantage  over  a  lands- 
man who  has  committed  a  crime.  He  could  al- 
ways go  to  sea  and  find  employment,  first  in  one 
ship,  and  then  in  another.  Terra  firma  was  not 
one  of  the  necessaries  of  life  to  him. 

He  came  to  Wardlaw's  office  to  feel  his  way, 
and  talked  guardedly  to  Michael  Penfold  about 
the  loss  of  the  Proserpine.  His  apparent  object 
was  to  give  information  ;  his  real  object  was  to 
gather  it.  He  learned  that  old  Wardlaw  was 
very  much  occupied  with  fitting  out  a  steamer  ; 
that  the  forty  chests  of  copper  had  actually  come 
up  from  the  Shannon  and  were  under  their  feet 
at  that  moment,  and  that  young  Wardlaw  was 
desperately  ill  and  never  came  to  the  office. 
Michael  had  not  at  that  time  learned  the  true 
cause  of  young  Wardlaw's  illness.  Yet  Wylie 
detected  that  young  Wardlaw's  continued  absence 
from  the  office  gave  Michael  singular  uneasiness. 
The  old  man  fidgeted,  and  washed  the  air  with 
his  hands,  and  with  simple  cunning  urged  Wylie 
to  go  and  see  him  about  the  Proserpine,  and  get 
him  to  the  office,  if  it  was  only  for  an  hour  or 
two.  "Tell  him  we  are  all  at  sixes  and  sevens, 
Mr.  Wylie  ;   all  at  sixes  and  sevens." 

"Well,"  said  Wylie,  affecting  a  desire  to 
oblige, "give  me  a  line  to  him;  for  I've  been 
twice,  and  could  never  get  in." 

Michael  wrote  an  earnest  line  to  say  that 
Wardlaw  senior  had  been  hitherto  much  occu- 
pied in  fitting  out  the  Springbok,  but  that  he  was 


FOUL  PLAY. 


113 


going  into  the  books  next  week.  What  was  to 
be  done  ? 

The  note  was  received  ;  but  Arthur  declined 
to  see  the  bearer.  Then  Wylie  told  the  servant 
it  was  Joseph  Wylie,  on  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  "Tell  him  I  must  stand  at  the  stairfoot 
and  halloo  it  out,  if  he  won't  hear  it  any  other 
way. " 

This  threat  obtained  his  admission  to  Arthur 
Wardlaw.  The  sailor  found  him  on  a  sofa,  in 
a  darkened  room,  pale  and  worn  to  a  shadow. 

"Mr.  Wardlaw,"  said  Wylie,  firmly,  "  you 
mustn't  think  I  don't  feel  for  you ;  but,  sir,  we 
are  gone  too  far  to  stop,  you  and  me.  There  is 
two  sides  to  this  business  ;  it  is  £150,000  for  you 
and  £3000  for  me,  or  it  is — "  "  What  do  I  care 
for  money  now  ?"  groaned  Wardlaw.  "  Let  it 
go  to  the  devil,  who  tempted  me  to  destroy  her 
I  loved  better  than  money,  better  than  all  the 
world." 

"Well,  but  hear  me  out,"  said  Wylie.  "I 
say  it  is  £150,000  to  you  and  £3000  to  me,  or 
else  it  is  twenty  years'  penal  servitude  to  both 
on  us." 

"Penal  servitude!"  And  the  words  roused 
the  merchant  from  his  lethargy  like  a  shower- 
bath. 

"You know  that  well  enough,"  said  Wylie. 
*'  Why,  'twas  a  hanging  matter  a  few  years  ago. 
Come,  come,  there  are  no  two  ways ;  you  must 
be  a  man,  or  we  are  undone." 

Pear  prevailed  in  that  timorous  breast,  which 
even  love  of  money  had  failed  to  rouse.  Ward- 
law  sat  up,  staring  wildly,  and  asked  Wylie  what 
he  was  to  do. 

"First,  let  me  ring  for  a  bottle  of  that  old 
brandy  of  yours." 

The  brandy  was  got.  Wylie  induced  him  to 
drink  a  wine-glassful  neat,  and  then  to  sit  at  the 
table  and  examine  the  sailors'  declaration  and 
the  logs.  "I'm  no  great  scholard,"  said  he. 
"  I  warn't  a  going  to  lay  these  before  the  under- 
writers till  you  had  overhauled  them.  There, 
take  another  drop  now, — 'twill  do  you  good, — 
while  I  draw  up  this  thundering  blind." 

Thus  encouraged  and  urged,  the  broken-heart- 
ed schemer  languidly  compared  the  seamen's  de- 
claration with  the  logs ;  and,  even  in  his  feeble 
state  of  mind  and  body,  made  an  awkward  dis- 
covery at  once. 

"Why,  they  don't  correspond!"  said  he. 

"  What  don't  correspond  ?" 

"  Your  men's  statement  and  the  ship's  log. 
The  men  speak  of  one  heavy  gale  after  another, 
in  January,  and  the  pumps  going ;  but  the  log 
says, '  A  puff  of  wind  from  the  N.E.'  And  here, 
again,  the  entry  exposes  your  exaggeration  :  one 
branch  of  our  evidence  contradicts  the  other; 
this  comes  of  trying  to  prove  too  much.  You 
must  say  the  log  was  lost,  went  down  with  the 
ship. 

"How  can  I?"  cried  Wylie.  "I  have  told 
too  many  I  had  got  it  safe  at  home." 

"Why  did  you  say  that  ?     What  madness  !" 

"  Why  were  you  away  from  your  office  at  such 
a  time  ?  How  can  I  know  every  thing  and  do 
every  thing  ?  I  counted  on  you  for  the  head- 
work  ashore.  Can't  ye  think  of  any  way  to 
square  the  log  to  that  part  of  our  tale  ?  might 
paste  in  a  leaf  or  two,  eh  ?" 

"That  would  be  discovered  at  once.  You  have 
committed  an  irremediable  error.  What  broad 
8 


strokes  this  Hudson  makes.  He  must  have 
written  with  the  stump  of  a  quill." 

Wylie  received  this  last  observation  with  a  look 
of  contempt  for  the  mind  that  could  put  so  triv- 
ial a  question  in  so  great  an  emergency. 

"Are  you  quite  sure  poor  Hudson  is  dead?" 
asked  Wardlaw,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Dead!  Don't  I  tell  you  I  saw  him  die!" 
said  Wylie,  trembling  all  of  a  sudden. 

He  took  a  glass  of  brandy,  and  sent  it  flying 
down  his  throat. 

"Leave  the  paper  with  me,"  said  Arthur,  lan- 
guidly, "and  tell  Penfold  I'll  crawl  to  the  office 
to-morrow.  You  can  meet  me  there  ;  I  shall  see 
nobody  else." 

Wylie  called  next  day  at  the  office,  and  was 
received  by  Penfold,  who  had  now  learned  the 
cause  of  Arthur's  grief,  and  ushered  the  visitor 
in  to  him  with  looks  of  benevolent  concern.  Ar- 
thur was  seated  like  a  lunatic,  pale  and  motion- 
less ;  on  th»  table  before  him  was  a  roast  fowl 
and  a  salad,  which  he  had  forgotten  to  eat.  His 
mind  appeared  to  alternate  between  love  and 
fraud ;  for,  as  soon  as  he  saw  Wylie,  he  gave 
himself  a  sort  of  shake,  and  handed  Wylie  the 
log  and  the  papers. 

"Examine  them  ;  they  agree  better  with  each 
other  now." 

Wylie  examined  the  log,  and  started  with  sur- 
prise and  superstitious  terror. 

"  Why,  Hiram's  ghost  has  been  here  at  work !" 
said  he.     "It  is  his  very  handwriting." 

"Hush!"  said  Wardlaw;  "not  so  loud.  Will 
it  do?" 

"  The  writing  will  do  first-rate  ;  but  any  one 
can  see  this  log  has  never  been  to  sea." 

Inspired  by  the  other's  ingenuity,  he  then,  after 
a  moment's  reflection,  emptied  the  salt-cellar  into 
a  plate,  and  poured  a  little  water  over  it.  He 
wetted  the  leaves  of  the  log  with  this  salt  water, 
and  dog's-eared  the  whole  book. 

Wardlaw  sighed.  "  See  what  expedients  we 
are  driven  to,"  said  he.  He  then  took  a  little 
soot  from  the  chimney,  and  mixed  it  with  salad 
oil.  He  applied  some  of  this  mixture  to  the 
parchment  cover,  rubbed  it  off,  and  by  such 
manipulation  gave  it  a  certain  mellow  look,  as 
if  it  had  been  used  by  working  hands. 

Wylie  was  armed  with  these  materials,  and 
furnished  with  money,  to  keep  his  sailors  to  their 
tale,  in  case  of  their  being  examined. 

Arthur  begged,  in  his  present  affliction,  to  be 

excused  from  going  personally  into  the  matter 

1  of  the  Proserpine ;  and  said  that  Penfold  had  the 

1  ship's  log,  and  the  declaration  of  the  survivors, 

which  the  insurers  could  inspect,  previously  to 

I  their  being  deposited  at  Lloyd's. 

The  whole  thing  wore  an  excellent  face,  and 
nobody  found  a  peg  to  hang  suspicion  on  so  far. 
|  After  this  preliminary,  and  the  deposit  of  the 
papers,  nothing  was  hurried  ;  the  merchant,  ab- 
sorbed in  his  grief,  seemed  to  be  forgetting  to  ask 
|  for  his  money.  Wylie  remonstrated  ;  but  Ar- 
;  thur  convinced  him  they  were  still  on  too  ticklish 
ground  to  show  any  hurry  without  exciting  suspi- 
cion. 

And  so  passed  two  weary  months,  during 
which  Wylie  fell  out  of  Nancy  House's  good 
graces,  for  idling  about  doing  nothing. 

"Be  you  a  waiting  for  the  plum  to  fall  into 
your  mouth,  young  man?"  said  she. 

The  demand  was  made  on  the  underwriters, 


1U 


FOUL  PLAY. 


and  Arthur  contrived  that  it  should  come  from 
his  father.  The  firm  was  of  excellent  repute, 
and  had  paid  hundreds  of  insurances,  without 
a  loss  to  the  underwriters.  The  Proserpine  had 
foundered  at  sea ;  several  lives  had  been  lost, 
and  of  the  survivors  one  had  since  died,  owing 
to  the  hardships  he  had  endured.  All  this  be- 
tokened a  genuine  calamity.  Nevertheless,  one 
ray  of  suspicion  rested  on  the  case,  at  first.  The 
captain  of  the  Proserpine  had  lost  a  great  many 
ships ;  and,  on  the  first  announcement,  one  or 
two  were  resolved  to  sift  the  matter  on  that  ground 
alone.  But  when  five  eye-witnesses,  suppressing 
all  mention  of  the  word  "drink,"  declared  that 
Captain  Hudson  had  refused  to  leave  the  vessel, 
and  described  his  going  down  with  the  ship,  from 
an  obstinate  and  too  exalted  sense  of  duty,  every 
chink  was  closed ;  and,  to  cut  the  matter  short, 
the  insurance  money  was  paid  to  the  last  shilling, 
and  Benson,  one  of  "the  small  underwriters,  ruin- 
ed. Nancy  Rouse,  who  worked  for  Mrs.  Benson, 
lost  eighteen  shillings  and  sixpence,  and  was 
dreadfully  put  out  about  it. 

Wylie  heard  her  lamentations,  and  grinned; 
for  now  his  £3000  was  as  good  as  in  his  pocket, 
he  thought.  Great  was  his  consternation  when 
Arthur  told  him  that  every  shilling  of  the  money 
was  forestalled,  and  that  the  entire  profit  of  the 
transaction  was  yet  to  come,  viz.,  by  the  sale  of 
the  gold-dust. 

"  Then  sell  it,"  said  Wylie. 

"I  dare  not.  The  affair  must  cool  down  be- 
fore I  can  appear  as  a  seller  of  gold  ;  and  even 
then  I  must  dribble  it  out  with  great  caution. 
Thank  Heaven,  it  is  no  longer  in  those  cel- 
lars." 

"Where  is  it,  then?" 

"That  is  my  secret.  You  will  get  your  two 
thousand  all  in  good  time  ;  and,  if  it  makes  you 
one  tenth  part  as  wretched  as  it  has  made  me, 
you  will  thank  me  for  all  these  delays." 

At  last  Wylie  lost  all  patience,  and  began  to 
show  his  teeth  ;  and  then  Arthur  Wardlawpaid 
him  his  three  thousandpounds  in  forty  crisp  notes. 
He  crammed  them  into  a  side  pocket,  and  went 
down  triumphant  to  Nancy  Rouse.  Through  her 
parlor  window  he  saw  the  benign  countenance  of 
Michael  Penfold.  He  then  remembered  that 
Penfold  had  told  him  some  time  before  that  he 
was  going  to  lodge  with  her  as  soon  as  the  pres- 
ent lodger  should  go. 

This,  however,  rather  interrupted  Wylie's  de- 
sign of  walking  in  and  chucking  the  three  thou- 
sand pounds  into  Nancy's  lap.  On  the  contrary, 
he  shoved  them  deeper  down  in  his  pocket,  and 
resolved  to  see  the  old  gentleman  to  bed,  and 
then  produce  his  pelf,  and  fix  the  wedding-day 
with  Nancy. 

He  came  in  and  found  her  crying,  and  Penfold 
making  weak  efforts  to  console  her.  The  tea- 
things  were  on  the  table,  and  Nancy's  cup  half 
emptied. 

Wylie  came  in,  and  said,  "Why,  what  is  the 
matter  now?" 

He  said  this  mighty  cheerfully,  as  one  who 
carried  the  panacea  for  all  ills  in  his  pocket,  and 
a  medicine  peculiarly  suited  to  Nancy  Rouse's 
constitution.  But  he  had  not  quite  fathomed 
her  yet. 

As  soon  as  ever  she  saw  him  she  wiped  her 
eyes,  and  asked  him,  grimly,  what  he  wanted 
there.    Wylie  stared  at  the  reception  ;   but  re- 


plied stoutly,  that  it  was  pretty  well  known  by 
this  time  what  he  wanted  in  that  quarter. 

"Well,  then,"  said  Nancy,  "Want  will  be 
your  master.  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  Miss 
Helen  was  in  that  ship?  my  sweet,  dear  mistress 
as  was,  that  I  feel  for  like  a  mother.  You  left 
her  to  drown,  and  saved  your  own  great  useless 
carcass,  and  drowned  she  is,  poor  dear.  Get  out 
o'  my  sight,  do." 

"  It    wasn't   my  fault,  Nancy,"  said  Wylie, 
earnestly.     "  I  didn't  know  who  she  was,  and  I 
j  advised  her  to  come  with  us ;  but  she  would  go 
|  with  that  parson  chap." 

"What  parson  chap?  What  a  liar  you  be! 
She  is  Wardlaw's  sweetheart,  and  don't  care  for 
no  parsons.  If  you  didn't  know  you  was  to 
blame,  why  didn't  you  tell  me  a  word  of  your 
own  accord?  Youkep'  dark.  Do  you  call  your- 
self a  man,  to  leave  my  poor  young  lady  to  shift 
for  herself?" 

"  She  had  as  good  a  chance  to  live  as  I  had," 
said  Wylie,  sullenly. 

"  No,  she  hadn't ;  you  took  care  o'  yourself. 
Well,  since  you  are  so  fond  of  yourself,  keep 
yourself  to  yourself,  and  don't  come  here  no 
more.  After  this,  I  hate  the  sight  on  ye.  You 
ai-e  like  the  black  dog  in  my  eyes,  and  always 
will  be.  Poor,  dear  Miss  Helen!  Ah,  I  cried 
when  she  left, — my  mind  misgave  me  ;  but  little 
I  thought  she  would  perish  in  the  salt  seas,  and 
all  for  want  of  a  man  in  the  ship.  If  you  had 
gone  out  again  after  in  the  steam-boat, — Mr. 
Penfold  have  told  me  all  about  it, — I'd  believe 
you  weren't  so  much  to  blame.  But  no;  lolloping 
and  looking  about  all  day  for  months.  There's 
my  door,  Joe  Wylie;  I  can't  cry  comfortable 
before  you  as  had  a  hand  in  drowning  of  her. 
You  and  me  is  parted  forever.  I'll  die  as  I  am, 
or  I'll  marry  a  man;  which  you  ain't  one,  nor 
nothing  like  one.  Is  he  waiting  for  you  to  hold 
the  door  open,  Mr.  Penfold  ?  or  don't  I  speak 
plain  enough  ?  Them  as  I  gave  the  sack  to  afore 
you  didn't  want  so  much  telling." 

"Well,  I'm  going,"  said  Wylie,  sullenly ; 
then,  with  considerable  feeling,  "this  is  hard 
lines." 

But  Nancy  was  inexorable,  and  turned  him 
out,  with  the*  £3000  in  his  pocket. 

He  took  the  notes  out  of  his  pocket,  and  flung 
them  furiously  down  in  the  dirt. 

Then  he  did  what  every  body  does  under 
similar  circumstances,  he  picked  them  up  again, 
and  pocketed  them,  along  with  the  other  dirt 
they  had  gathered. 

Next  day  he  went  down  to  the  docks,  and 
looked  out  for  a  ship  ;  he  soon  got  one,  and  sign- 
ed as  second  mate.  She  was  to  sail  in  a  fort- 
night. 

But,  before  a  week  was  out,  the  bank-notes 
had  told  so  upon  him,  that  he  was  no  longer 
game  to  go  to  sea.  But  the  captain  he  had 
signed  with  was  a  Tartar,  and  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  He  consulted  a  knowing  friend,  and  that 
friend  advised  him  to  disguise  himself  till  the 
ship  had  sailed.  Accordingly  he  rigged  him- 
self out  with  a  long  coat,  and  a  beard,  and 
spectacles,  and  hid  his  sea-slouch  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  changed  his  lodgings.  Finding  he 
succeeded  so  well,  he  thought  he  might  as  well 
have  the  pleasure  of  looking  at  Nancy  Rouse,  if 
he  could  not  talk  to  her.  So  he  actually  had  the 
hardihood  to  take  the  parlor  next  door  ;  and  by 


FOUL  PLAY. 


115 


this  means  he  heard  her  move  about  in  her  room, 
and  caught  a  sight  of  her  at  work  on  her  little 
green  ;  and  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  observe 
she  did  not  sing  and  whistle  as  she  used  to  do. 
The  dog  chuckled  at  that. 

His  bank-notes  worried  him  night  and  day. 
He  was  afraid  to  put  them  in  a  bank ;  afraid  to 
take  them  about  with  him  into  his  haunts ; 
afraid  to  leave  them  at  home ;  and  out  of  this 
his  perplexity  arose  some  incidents  worth  relat- 
ing in  their  proper  order. 

Arthur  "Wardlaw  returned  to  business;  but 
he  was  a  changed  man.  All  zest  in  the  thing 
was  gone.  His  fraud  set  him  above  the  world  ; 
and  that  was  now  enough  for  him  in  whom  am- 
bition was  dead,  and,  indeed,  nothing  left  alive 
in  him  but  deep  regrets. 

He  drew  in  the  horns  of  speculation,  and  went 
on  in  the  old  safe  routine ;  and  to  the  restless 
activity  that  had  jeopardized  the  firm  succeeded 
a  strange  torpidit}r.  He  wore  black  for  Helen, 
and  sorrowed  without  hope.  He  felt  he  had 
offended  Heaven,  and  had  met  his  punishment 
in  Helen's  death.  Wardlaw  senior  retired  to 
Elm-trees,  and  seldom  saw  his  son.  When  they 
did  meet,  the  old  man  sometimes  whispered 
hope,  but  the  whisper  was  faint  and  unheeded. 

One  day  Wardlaw  senior  came  up  express,  to 
communicate  to  Arthur  a  letter  from  General 
Rolleston,  written  at  Valparaiso.  In  this  letter, 
General  Rolleston  deplored  his  unsuccessful 
search :  but  said  he  was  going  westward,  upon 
the  report  of  a  Dutch  whaler,  who  had  seen  an 
island  reflected  in  the  sky,  while  sailing  between 
Juan  Fernandez  and  Norfolk  Isle. 

Arthur  only  shook  his  head  with  a  ghastly 
smile.  "  She  is  in  heaven,"  said  he,  "and  I 
shall  never  see  her  again,  not  here  or  here- 
after." 

Wardlaw  senior  was  shocked  at  this  speech  ; 
but  he  made  no  reply.  He  pitied  his  son  too 
much  to  criticise  the  expressions  into  which  his 
bitter  grief  betrayed  him.  He  was  old,  and  had 
seen  the  triumphs  of  time  over  all  things  human, 
sorrow  included.  These,  however,  as  yet,  had 
done  nothing  for  Arthur  Wardlaw.  At  the  end 
of  six  months,  his  grief  was  as  sombre  and  as 
deadly  as  the  first  week. 

But  one  day,  as  this  pale  figure  in  deep 
mourning  sat  at  his  table,  going  listlessly  and 
mechanically  through  the  business  of  scraping 
money  together  for  others  to  enjoy,  whose  hearts, 
unlike  his,  might  not  be  in  the  grave,  his  father 
burst  in  upon  him,  with  a  telegram  in  his  hand, 
and  waved  it  over  his  head  in  triumph.  "  She 
is  found!  she  is  found!"  he  roared:  "read 
that !"  and  thrust  the  telegram  into  his  hands. 

Those  hands  trembled,  and  the  languid  voice 
rose  into  shrieks  of  astonishment  and  delight, 
as  Arthur  read  the  words,  "  We  have  got  her, 
alive  and  well :  shall  be  at  Charing  Cross  Ho- 
tel 8  P.M." 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

Whilst  the  boat  was  going  to  the  Springbok, 
General  Rolleston  whispered  to  Captain  More- 
land  ;  and  what  he  said  may  be  almost  guessed 
from  what  occurred  on  board  the  steamer  soon 


afterwards.  Helen  was  carried  trembling  to  the 
cabin,  and  the  order  was  given  to  heave  up  the 
anchor,  and  get  under  way.  A  groan  of  disap- 
pointment ran  through  the  ship  ;  Captain  More- 
land  expressed  the  General's  regret  to  the  men, 
and  divided  £200  upon  the  capstan;  and  the 
groan  ended  in  a  cheer. 

As  for  Helen's  condition,  that  was  at  first 
mistaken  for  ill  health.  She  buried  herself  for 
two  whole  days,  in  her  cabin  ;  and  from  that 
place  faint  moans  were  heard  now  and  then. 
The  sailors  called  her  the  sick  lady. 

Heaven  knows  what  she  went  through  in  that 
forty-eight  hours. 

She  came  upon  deck  at  last  in  a  strange  state 
of  mind  and  body  :  restless,  strung  up,  absorbed. 
The  rare  vigor  she  had  acquired  on  the  island 
came  out  now  with  a  vengeance.  She  walked 
the  deck  with  briskness,  and  a  pertinacity  that 
awakened  admiration  in  the  crew  at  first,  butb}*- 
and-by  superstitious  awe.  For,  while  the  untir- 
ing feet  went  briskly  to  and  fro  over  leagues  and 
leagues  of  plank  every  day,  the  great  hazel  eyes 
were  turned  inward,  and  the  mind,  absorbed 
with  one  idea,  skimmed  the  men  and  things 
about  her  listlessly. 

She  had  a  mission  to  fulfill,  and  her  whole  na- 
ture was  stringing  itself  up  to  do  the  work. 

She  walked  so  many  miles  a  day,  partly  from 
excitement,  partly  with  a  deliberate  resolve  to 
cherish  her  health  and  strength ;  "  I  may  want 
them  both,"  said  she,  "  to  clear  Robert  Penfold." 
Thought  and  high  purpose  shone  through  her 
so,  that  after  a  while  nobody  dared  trouble  her 
much  with  commonplaces.  To  her  father,  she 
was  always  sweet  and  filial,  but  sadly  cold  com- 
pared with  what  she  had  always  been  hitherto. 
He  was  taking  her  body  to  England,  but  the 
heart  staid  behind  upon  that  island :  he  saw 
this,  and  said  it. 

"Forgive  me,"  said  she,  coldly;  and  that 
was  all  her  reply. 

Sometimes  she  had  violent  passions  of  weep- 
ing; and  then  he  would  endeavor  to  console 
her ;  but  in  vain.  They  ran  their  course,  and 
were  succeeded  by  the  bodily  activity  and  con- 
centration of  purpose  they  had  interrupted  for  a 
little  while. 

At  last,  after  a  rapid  voyage,  they  drew  near 
the  English  coast ;  and  then  General  Rolleston, 
who  had  hitherto  spared  her  feelings,  and  been 
most  indulgent  and  considerate,  felt  it  was  high 
time  to  come  to  an  understanding  with  her  as  to 
the  course  they  should  both  pursue. 

"Now  Helen,"  said  he,  "about  the  Ward- 
laws  !" 

Helen  gave  a  slight  shudder.  But  she  said, 
after  a  slight  hesitation,  "Let  me  know  your 
wishes. " 

"Oh,  mine  are,  not  to  be  too  ungrateful  to 
the  father,  and  not  to  deceive  the  son." 

"I  will  not  be  ungrateful  to  the  father,  nor 
deceive  the  son,"  said  Helen,  firmly. 

The  General  kissed  her  on  the  brow,  and  call- 
ed her  his  brave  girl.  "  But,"  said  he,  "  on  the 
other  hand,  it  must  not  be  published  that  you 
have  been  for  eight  months  on  an  island  alone 
with  a  convict.  Any  thing  sooner  than  that.  You 
know  the  malice  of  your  own  sex ;  if  one  woman 
gets  hold  of  that,  you  will  be  an  outcast  from  so- 
ciety." 

Helen  blushed  and  trembler^'  ;;<rTTpb$d«^ieed 


116 


FOUL  PLAY. 


be  told  that  but  Arthur  ;  and  I  am  sure  he  loves 
me  well  enough  not  to  injure  me  with  the  world." 
.      "  But  he  would  be  justified  in  declining  your 
hand  after  such  a  revelation." 

"  Quite.  And  I  hope  he  will  decline  it  when 
he  knows  I  love  another,  however  hopelessly." 

"  You  are  going  to  tell  Arthur  Wardlaw  all 
that?" 

"lam." 

"  Then  all  I  can  say  is,  you  are  not  like  other 
women." 

"I  have  been  brought  up  by  a  man." 

"If  I  was  Arthur  Wardlaw,  it  would  be  the 
last  word  you  should  ever  speak  to  me." 

"  If  you  were  Arthur  Wardlaw,  I  should  be  on 
that  dear  island  now." 

"Well,  suppose  his  love  should  be  greater  than 
his  spirit,  and — " 

"If  he  does  not  go  back  when  he  hears  of  my 
hopeless  love,  I  don't  see  how  I  can.  I  shall 
marry  him  :  and  try  with  all  my  soul  to  love  him. 
I'll  open  every  door  in  London  to  Robert  Fen- 
fold  ;  except  one ;  my  husband's.  And  that 
door,  while  I  live,  he  shall  never  enter.  Oh,  my 
heart;  my  heart!"  She  burst  out  sobbing  des- 
perately :  and  her  father  laid  her  head  upon  his 
bosom,  and  sighed  deeply,  and  asked  himself  how 
all  this  would  end. 

Before  they  landed,  her  fortitude  seemed  to  re- 
turn ;  and  of  her  own  accord  she  begged  her 
father  to  telegraph  to  the  Wardlaws. 

"  Would  you  not  like  a  day  to  compose  your- 
self, and  prepare  for  this  trying  interview  ?"  said 
he. 

"I  should:  but  it  is  mere  weakness.  And  I 
must  cure  myself  of  my  weakness,  or  I  shall  nev- 
er clear  Robert  Fenfold.  And  then,  papa,  I 
think  of  you.  If  old  Mr.  Wardlaw  heard  you  had 
been  a  day  in  town,  you  might  suffer  in  his  good 
opinion.  We  shall  be  in  London  at  seven.  Ask 
them  at  eight.  That  will  be  one  hour's  respite. 
God  help  me,  and  strengthen  poor  Arthur  to 
bear  the  blow  I  bring  him  !" 

Long  before  eight  o'clock  that  day,  Arthur 
Wardlaw  had  passed  from  a  state  of  sombre  mis- 
ery and  remorse  to  one  of  joy,  exultation,  and 
unmixed  happiness.  He  no  longer  regretted  his 
crime,  nor  the  loss  of  the  Proserpine  :  Helen  was 
alive  and  well,  and  attributed  not  her  danger, 
but  only  her  preservation,  to  the  Wardlaws. 

Wardlaw  senior  kept  his  carriage  in  town,  and 
precisely  at  eight  o'clock  they  drove  up  to  the 
door  of  the  hotel. 

They  followed  the  servant  with  bounding 
hearts,  and  rushed  into  the  room  where  the  Gen- 
eral and  Helen  stood  ready  to  receive  them. 
Old  Wardlaw  went  to  the  General  with  both 
hands  out,  and  so  the  General  met  him,  and  be- 
tween these  two  it  was  almost  an  embrace.  Ar- 
thur ran  to  Helen  with  cries  of  joy  and  admira- 
tion, and  kissed  her  hands  again  and  again,  and 
shed  such  genuine  tears  of  joy  over  them  that  she 
trembled  all  over,  and  was  obliged  to  sit  down. 
He  kneeled  at  her  feet  and  still  imprisoned  one 
hand,  and  mumbled  it,  while  she  turned  her  head 
away  and  held  her  other  hand  before  her  face  to 
hide  its  real  expression,  which  was  a  mixture  of 
pity  and  repugnance.  But,  as  her  face  was  hid- 
den, and  her  eloquent  body  quivered,  and  her 
hand  was  not  withdrawn,  it  seemed  a  sweet  pic- 
ture of  feminine  affection  to  those  who  had  not 
the  key. 


At  last  she  was  relieved  from  a  most  embar- 
rassing situation  by  oldWardlaw ;  he  cried  out  on 
this  monopoly,  and  Helen  instantly  darted  out  of 
her  chair,  and  went  to  him  and  put  up  her  cheek 
to  him,  which  he  kissed  ;  and  then  she  thanked 
him  warmly  for  his  courage  in  not  despairing  of 
her  life,  and  his  goodness  in  sending  out  a  ship 
for  her. 

Now,  the  fact  is,  sire  could  not  feel  grateful ; 
but  she  knew  she  ought  to  be  grateful,  and  she 
was  ashamed  to  show  no  feeling  at  all  in  return 
for  so  much  ;  so  she  was  eloquent,  and  the  old 
gentleman  was  naturally  very  much  pleased  at 
first ;  but  he  caught  an  expression  of  pain  on  Ar- 
thur's face,  and  then  he  stopped  her.  "My 
dear,"  said  he,  "  you  ought  to  thank  Arthur,  not 
me ;  it  is  his  love  for  you  which  was  the  cause  of 
my  zeal.  If  you  owe  me  any  thing,  pay  it  to  him, 
for  he  deserves  it  best.  He  nearly  died  for  you, 
my  sweet  girl.  No,  no,  you  mustn't  hang  your 
head  for  that  neither.  What  a  fool  I  am  to  re- 
vive old  sorrows !  Here  we  are,  the  happiest 
four  in  England."  Then  he  whispered  to  her, 
"  Be  kind  to  poor  Arthur,  that  is  all  I  ask.  His 
very  life  depends  on  you." 

Helen  obeyed  this  order,  and  went  slowly  back 
to  Arthur  ;  she  sat,  cold  as  ice,  on  the  sofa  beside 
him,  and  he  made  love  to  her.  She  scarcely 
heard  what  he  said  ;  she  was  asking  herself  how 
she  could  end  this  intolerable  interview,  and  es- 
cape her  father's  looks,  who  knew  the  real  state 
of  her  heart. 

At  last  she  rose,  and  went  and  whispered  to 
him  :  "My  courage  has  failed  me.  Have  pity 
on  me,  and  get  me  away.  It  is  the  old  man ;  he 
kills  me." 

General  Rolleston  took  the  hint,  and  acted  with 
more  tact  than  one  would  have  given  him  credit 
for.  He  got  up  and  rang  the  bell  for  tea  :  then 
he  said  to  Helen,  "You  don't  drink  tea  now,  and 
I  see  you  are  excited  more  than  is  good  for  you. 
You  had  better  go  to  bed." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  said  Helen. 

She  took  her  candle,  and,  as  she  passed  young 
Wardlaw,  she  told  him  in,  a  low  voice,  she  would 
be  glad  to  speak  to  him  alone  tormorrow. 

"  At  what  hour  ?"  said  he,  eagerly. 

"  When  you  like.     At  one." 

And  so  she  retired,  leaving  him  in  ecstasies. 
This  was  the  first  downright  assignation  she  had 
ever  made  with  him. 

They  met  at  one  o'clock  ;  he  radiant  as  the  sun, 
and  a  rose  in  his  button-hole :  she  sad  and  som- 
bre, and  with  her  very  skin  twitching  at  the 
thought  of  the  explanation  she  had  to  go  through. 

He  began  with  amorous  commonplaces  ;  she 
stopped  him,  gravely.  "Arthur,"  said  she,  '  f  you 
and  I  are  alone  now,  and  I  have  a  confession  to 
make.  Unfortunately,  I  must  cause  you  pain, 
— terrible  pain.  Oh,  my  heart  flinches  at  the 
wound  I  am  going  to  give  you  ;  but  it  is  my  fate 
either  to  wound  you  or  to  deceive  you." 

During  this  pi-eamble,  Arthur  sat  amazed, 
rather  than  alarmed.  He  did  not  interrupt  her, 
though  she  paused,  and  would  gladly  have  been 
interrupted,  since  an  interruption  is  an  assist- 
ance in  perplexities. 

"Arthur,  we  suffered  great  hardships  on  the 
boat,  and  you  would  have  lost  me  but  for  one 
person.  He  saved  my  life  again  and  again;  I 
saved  his  upon  the  island.     My  constancy  was 


FOUL  PLAY. 


117 


subject  to  trials, — oh,  such  trials  !  So  great  an 
example  of  every  manly  virtue  forever  before 
my  eyes !  My  gratitude  and  my  pity  eternally 
pleading !  England  and  you  seemed  gone  for- 
ever. Make  excuses  for  me  if  you  can.  Ar- 
thur— I — I  have  formed  an  attachment." 

In  making  this    strange  avowal  she  hung  her 
head  and  blushed,  and  the  tears  ran  down  her  j 
cheeks.     But  we  suspect  they  ran  for  hint,  and 
not  for  Arthur. 

Arthur  turned  deadly  sick  at  this  tremendous  ■ 
blow,  dealt   with  so  soft  a  hand.     At  last  he 
gasped  out,  "Ifyoumarryhim,youwillburyme." 

"No,  Arthur*"  said  Helen,  gently;    "I  could 
not  marry  him,  even  if  you  were  to  permit  me. 
When  you  know  more,  you  will  see.  that,  of  us 
three  unhappy  ones,  you  are  the  least  unhappy,  j 
But,  since  this  is.so,  am  I  wrong  to  tell  you  the  j 
truth,  and  leave  you  to  decide  whether  our  en-  | 
gagement  ought  to  continue?     Of  course,  what  | 
I  have  owned  to  you  releases  you." 

"  Releases  me !  but  it  does  not  unbind  my 
heart  from  yours,"  cried  Arthur,  in  despair. 

Then  his  hysterical  nature  came  out,  and  he  | 
was  so  near  fainting  away  that  Helen  sprinkled  j 
water    on  his  temples,   and  applied  eau-de-co-  J 
logne  to  his  nostrils,   and  murmured,    "Poor, 
poor  Arthur  !      Oh,  was  I  born  only  to  afflict 
those  I  esteem  ?" 

He  saw  her  with  the  tears  of  pity  in  her  eyes,  I 
and  he  caught  her  hand,  and  said,   "You  were  j 
always  the  soul  of  honor ;  keep  faith  with  me,  j 
and   I  will  cure  you  of  that  unhappy  attach- 
ment." 

"  What !  Do  you  hold  me  to  my  engage- 
ment after  what  I  have  told  you  ?" 

"  Cruel  Helen !  you  know  I  have  not  the  pow- 
er to  hold  you." 

"I  am  not  cruel;  and  you  have  the  power. 
But  oh,  think!     For  your  own  sake,  not  mine." 

"I  have  thought;  and  this  attachment  to  a 
man  you  can  not  marry  is  a  mere  misfortune — 
yours  as  well  as  mine.  Give  me  your  esteem 
until  your  love  comes  back,  and  let  our  engage- 
ment continue." 

"  It  was  for  you  to  decide,"  said  Helen  cold- 
ly, "  and  you  have  decided.  There  is  one  con- 
dition I  must  ask  you  to  submit  to." 

"  I  submit  to  it." 

"What,  before  you  hear  it?" 

"  Helen,  you  don't  know  what  a  year  of  mis- 
ery I  have  endured,  ever  since  the  report  came 
of  your  death.  My  happiness  is  cruelly  dashed 
now,  but  still  it  is  great  happiness  by  compar- 
ison. Make  your  conditions.  You  are  my  i 
queen,  as  well  as  my  love  and  my  life." 

Helen  hesitated.  It  shocked  her  delicacy  to 
lower  the  man  she  had  consented  to  marry. 
'  "Oh,  Helen,"  said  Arthur,  "any  thing  but 
secrets  between  you  and  me.  Go  on  as  you 
have  begun,  and  let  me  know  the  worst  at 
once." 

"Can  you  be  very  generous,  Arthur? — gen- 
erous to  him  who  has  caused  you  so  much  pain  ?" 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Arthur,  with  a  groan. 

"I  would  not  marry  him,  unless  you  gave  me 
up:  for  I  am  your  betrothed,  and  you  are  true 
to  me.  I  could  not  marry  him,  even  if  I  were 
not  pledged  to  you ;  but  it  so  happens,  I  can  do 
him  one  great  service  without  injustice  to  you  ; 
and  this  service  I  have  vowed  to  do  before  I 
marry.     I  shall  keep  that  vow,  as  I  keep  faith 


with  you.  He  has  been  driven  from  society 
by  a  foul  slander;  that  slander  I  am  to  sift  and 
confute.  It  will  be  long  and  difficult ;  but  I 
shall  do  it ;  and  you  could  help  me  if  you  chose. 
But  that  I  will  not  be  so  cruel  as  to  ask." 

Arthur  bit  his  lip  with  jealous  rage  ;  but  he 
was  naturally  cunning,  and  his  cunning  showed 
him  there  was  at  present  but  one  road  to  Helen's 
heart.  He  quelled  his  torture  as  well  as  he 
could,  and  resolved  to  take  that  road.  He  re- 
flected a  moment,  and  then  he  said,- — 

"If  you  succeed  in  that  will  you  marry  me 
next  day?" 

"I  will,  upon  my  honor." 

"Then  I  will  help  you." 

"  Arthur,  think  what  you  say.  Women  have 
loved  as  unselfishly  as  this;  but  no  man,  that 
ever  I  heard  of." 

"No  man  ever  did  love  a  woman  as  I  love 
you.  Yes,  I  would  rather  help  you,  though  with 
a  sore  heart,  than  hold  aloof  from  you.  What 
have  we  to  do  together  ?" 

"Did  I  not  tell  you? — to  clear  his  character 
of  a  foul  stigma,  and  restore  him  to  England, 
and  to  the  world  which  he  is  so  fitted  to  adorn." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Arthur;  "  but  who  is  it? 
Why  do  I  ask,  though  ?  He  must  be  a  stranger 
to  me." 

"No  stranger  at  all,"  said  Helen ;  " but  one 
who  is  almost  as  unjust  to  you  as  the  world  has 
been  to  him  ;"  then,  fixing  her  eyes  full  on  him, 
she  said,  "Arthur,  it  is  your  old  friend  and  tutor, 
Robert  Penfold." 


CHAPTER  LV. 

Arthur  Wardlaw  was  thunderstruck;  and 
for  some  time  sat  stupidly  staring  at  her.  And 
to  this  blank  gaze  succeeded  a  look  of  abject 
terror,  which  seemed  to  her  strange  and  beyond 
the  occasion.  But  this  was  not  all ;  for,  after 
glaring  at  her  with  scared  eyes  and  ashy  cheeks 
a  moment  or  two,  he  got  up  and  literally  stag- 
gered out  of  the  room  without  a  word. 

He  had  been  taken  by  surprise,  and,  for  once, 
all  his  arts  had  failed  him. 

Helen,  whose  eyes  had  never  left  his  face,  and 
had  followed  his  retiring  figure,  was  frightened 
at  the  weight  of  the  blow  she  had  struck ;  and 
strange  thoughts  and  conjectures  filled  her  mind. 
Hitherto,  she  had  felt  sure  Robert  Penfold  was 
under  a  delusion  as  to  Arthur  Wardlaw,  and 
that  his  suspicions  were  as  unjust  as  they  cer- 
tainly were  vague.  Yet  now,  at  the  name  of 
Robert  Penfold,  Arthur  turned  pale,  and  fled  like 
a  guilty  thing.  This  was  a  coincidence  that 
confirmed  her  good  opinion  of  Robert  Penfold, 
and  gave  her  ugly  thoughts  of  Arthur.  Still, 
she  was  one  very  slow  to  condemn  a  friend,  and 
too  generous  and  candid  to  condemn  on  suspi- 
cion ;  so  she  resolved  as  far  as  possible  to  suspend 
her  unfavorable  judgment  of  Arthur,  until  she 
should  have  asked  him  why  this  great  emotion, 
and  heard  his  reply. 

Moreover,  she  was  no  female  detective,  but  a 
pure  creature  bent  on  clearing  innocence.  The 
object  of  her  life  was,  not  to  discover  the  faults 
of  Arthur  Wardlaw,  or  any  other  person,  but  to 
clear  Robert  Penfold  of  a  crime.  Yet  Arthur's 
strange  behavior  was  a  great  shock  to  her;  for 
here  at  the  very  outset,  he  had  somehow  made 


118 


FOUL  PLAY. 


her  feel  she  must  hope  for  no  assistance  from 
him.  She  sighed  at  this  check,  and  asked  her- 
self to  whom  she  should  apply  first  for  aid.  Rob- 
ert had  told  her  to  see  his  counsel,  his  solicitor, 
his  father,  and  Mr.  Undercliff,  an  expert,  and  to 
sift  the  whole  matter. 

Not  knowing  exactly  where  to  begin,  she 
thought  she  would,  after  all,  wait  a  day  or  two 
to  give  Arthur  time  to  recover  himself,  and  de- 
cide calmly  whether  he  would  co-operate  with 
her  or  not. 

In  this  trying  interval,  she  set  up  a  diary — 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life ;  for  she  was  no 
egotist :  and  she  noted  down  what  we  have  just 
related,  only  in  a  very  condensed  form,  and  wrote 
at  the  margin  :  Mysterious. 

Arthur  never  came  near  her  for  two  whole 
days.  This  looked  grave.  On  the  third  day  she 
said  to  General  Rolleston : 

"Papa,  you  will  help  me  in  the  good  cause, 
will  you  not?" 

He  replied  that  he  would  do  what  he  could, 
but  feared  that  would  be  little. 

"Will  you  take  me  down  to  Elm-trees,  this 
morning?" 

"With  all  my  heart." 

He  took  her  down  to  Elm-trees.  On  the  way 
she  said :  "Papa,  you  must  let  me  get  a  word 
with  Mr.  Wardlaw  alone." 

"  Oh,  certainly.  But,  of  course,  you  will  not 
say  a  word  to  hurt  his  feelings." 

"Oh,  papa!" 

"Excuse  me:  but,  when  a  person  of  your 
age  is  absorbed  with  one  idea,  she  sometimes  for- 
gets that  other  people  have  any  feelings  at  all." 

Helen  kissed  him  meekly,  and  said  that  was 
too  true ;  and  she  would  be  upon  her  guard. 

To  General  Rolleston's  surprise,  his  daughter 
no  sooner  saw  old  Wardlaw  than  she  went — or 
seemed  to  go — into  high  spirits,  and  was  infi- 
nitely agreeable. 

But  at  last  she  got  him  all  to  herself,  and  then 
she  turned  suddenly  grave,  and  said : 

"  Mr.  Wardlaw,  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question. 
It  is  something  about  Robert  Penfold." 

Wardlaw  shook  his  head.  "That  is  a  pain- 
ful subject,  my  dear.  But  what  do  you  wish  to 
know  about  that  unhappy  young  man?" 

"Can  you  tell  me  the  name  of  the  counsel 
who  defended  him  at  the  trial  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  I  can  not." 

"  But  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  where  I  could 
learn  that." 

"  His  father  is  in  our  office  still ;  no  doubt  he 
could  tell  you." 

Now,  for  obvious  reasons,  Helen  did  not  like 
to  go  to  the  office  ;  so  she  asked  faintly  if  there 
was  nobody  else  who  could  tell  her. 

"  I  suppose  the  solicitor  could." 

"But  I  don't  know  who  was  the  solicitor," 
said  Helen  with  a  sigh. 

"  Hum  !"  said  the  merchant.  "  Try  the  bill- 
broker.  I'll  give  you  his  address  ; "  and  he  wrote 
it  down  for  her. 

Helen  did  not  like  to  be  too  importunate,  and 
she  could  not  bear  to  let  Wardlaw  senior  know 
she  loved  any  body  better  than  his  son  ;  and  yet 
some  explanation  was  necessary  :  so  she  told  him, 
as  calmly  as  she  could,  that  her  father  and  her- 
self were  both  well  acquainted  with  Robert  Pen- 
fold,  and  knew  many  things  to  his  credit. 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Wardlaw; 


"and  I  can  believe  it.  He  bore  an  excellent 
character  here,  till,  in  an  evil  hour,  a  strong  temp- 
tation came,  and  he  fell." 

"  What !     You  think  he  was  guilty  ?" 

"  I  do.  Arthur,  I  believe,  has  his  doubts  still. 
But  he  is  naturally  prejudiced  in  his  friend's 
favor :  and,  besides,  he  was  not  at  the  trial ;  1 
was." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Wardlaw,"  said  Helen,  cold- 
ly ;  and  within  five  minutes  she  was  on  her  way 
home. 

"Arthur  prejudiced  in  Robert  Penfold's  fa- 
vor!"   That  puzzled  her  extremely. 

She  put  down  the  whole  conversation  while 
her  memory  was  fresh.  She  added  this  com- 
ment :   "What  darkness  I  am  groping  in  !" 

Next  day  she  went  to  the  bill-broker,  and  told 
him  Mr.  Wardlow  senior  had  referred  her  to  him 
for  certain  information.  Wartllaw's  name  was 
evidently  a  passport."  Mr.  Adams  said  obsequi- 
ously, "Any  thing  in  the  world  I  can  do,  mad- 
am." 

"  It  is  about  Mr.  Robert  Penfold.  I  wish  to 
knoAV  the  name  of  the  counsel  he  had  at  his  trial." 

"  Robert  Penfold  !     What,  the  forger  ?" 

"  He  was  accused  of  that  crime,"  said  Helen, 
turning  red. 

"Accused,  madam!  He  was  convicted.  I 
ought  to  know ;  for  it  was  my  partner  he  tried 
the  game  on.  But  I  was  too  sharp  for  him.  I 
had  him  arrested  before  he  had  time  to  melt  the 
notes ;  indicted  him,  and  sent  him  across  the 
herring-pond  in  spite  of  his  parson's  coat,  the  ras- 
cal !" 

Helen  drew  back  as  if  a  serpent  had  stung  her. 

"It  was  you  who  had  him  transported!"  cried 
she,  turning  her  eyes  on  him  with  horror. 

"  Of  course  it  was  me,"  said  Mr.  Adams,  fir- 
ing up  ;  "  and  I  did  the  country  good  service. 
I  look  upon  a  forger  as  worse  than  a  murderer. 
What  is  the  matter  ?#  You  are  ill." 

The  poor  girl  was 'half  fainting  at  the  sight 
of  the  man  who  had  destroyed  her  Robert  and 
owned  it. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried  hastily;  "let  me  get 
away — let  me  get  away  from  here — you  cruel, 
cruel  man !" 

She  tottered  to  the  door,  and  got  to  her  car- 
riage, she  scarcely  knew  how,  without  the  infor- 
mation she  went  for. 

The  bill-broker  was  no  fool ;  he  saw  now  how 
the  land  lay  ;  he  followed  her  down  the  stairs, 
and  tried  to  stammer  excuses. 

"  Charing  Cross  Hotel,"  said  she,  faintly,  and 
laid  her  face  against  the  cushion  to  avoid  the 
sight  of  him. 

When  she  got  home,  she  cried  bitterly  at  her 
feminine  weakness  and  her  incapacity  ;  and  she 
entered  this  pitiable  failure  in  her  journal  with  a 
severity  our  male  readers  will  hardly,  we  think, 
be  disposed  to  imitate ;  and  she  added,  by  way 
of  comment :  "Is  this  how  I  carry  out  my  poor 
Robert's  precept :  Be  obstinate  as  a  man ;  be 
supple  as  a  woman  ?" 

That  night  she  consulted  her  father  on  this 

difficulty,  so  slight  to  any  but  an  inexperienced 

girl.     He  told  her  there  must  be  a  report  of  the 

trial  in  the  newspapers,  and  the  report  would 

!  probably  mention  the  counsel ;    she  had  better 

|  consult  a  file. 

Then  the  thing  was  where  to  find  a  file.  After 
one  or  two  failures,  the  British  Museum  was 


FOUL  PLAY. 


119 


suggested.  She  went  thither,  and  could  not  get 
in  to  read  without  certain  formalities.  While 
these  were  being  complied  with,  she  was  at  a 
stand-still. 

That  same  evening  came  a  line  from  Arthur 
Wardlaw: — 

"Dearest  Helen  : — I  hear  from  Mr.  Adams 
that  you  desire  to  know  the  name  of  the  counsel 
who  defended  Robert  Penfold.     It  was  Mr.  Tol- 
lemache.     He  has  chambers  in  Lincoln's  Inn. 
11  Ever  devotedly  yours, 

"Arthur  Wardlaw." 

Helen  was  touched  with  this  letter,  and  put  it 
away  indorsed  with  a  few  words  of  gratitude 
and  esteem  ;  and  copied  it  into  her  diary  and  re- 
marked :  "This  is  one  more  warning  not  to 
judge  hastily.  Arthur's  agitation  was  probably 
only  great  emotion  at  the  sadden  mention  of  one 
whose  innocence  he  believes,  and  whose  sad  fate 
distresses  him."  She  wrote  back  and  thanked 
him  sweetly,  and  in  terms  that  encouraged  a  visit. 
Next  day  she  went  to  Mr.  Tollemache.  A  seedy 
man  followed  her  at  a  distance.  Mr.  Tollemache 
was  not  at  his  chambers,  nor  expected  till  four 
o'clock.  He  was  in  court.  She  left  her  card  and 
wrote  on  it  in  pencil  that  she  would  call  at  four. 

She  wont  at  ten  minutes  after  four.  Mr.  Tol- 
lemache declined  through  his  clerk  to  see  her  if 
she  was  a  client ;  he  could  only  be  approached 
by  her  solicitor.  She  felt  inclined  to  go  away 
and  cry ;  but  this  time  she  remembered  she  was 
to  be  obstinate  as  a  man  and  supple  as  a  woman. 
She  wrote  on  a  card  :  "  I  am  not  a  client  of  Mr. 
Tollemache,  but  a  lady  deeply  interested  in  ob- 
taining some  information,  which  Mr.  Tollemache 
can  with  perfect  propriety  give  me.  I  trust  to 
his  courtesy  as  a  gentleman  not,  to  refuse  me  a 
short  interview." 

"Admit  the  lady, "  said  a  sharp  little  voice. 

She  was  ushered  in,  and  found  Mr.  Tollemache 
standing  before  the  fire. 

"Now,  madam,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"  Some  years  ago  you  defended  Mr.  Robert 
Pen/old  ;   he  was  accused  of  forgery." 

"  Oh,  was  he  !  I  think  I  remember  something 
about  it.     A  banker's  clerk — wasn't  he?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir.     A  clergyman." 

"A -clergyman.  I  remember  it  perfectly.  He 
was  convicted." 

"  Do  you  think  he  was  guilty,  sir  ?" 

"  There  was  a  strong  case  against  him." 

"I  wish  to  sift  that  case." 

"  Indeed.  And  you  want  to  go  through  the 
papers." 

"  What  papers,  sir  ?" 

"The  brief  for  the  defense." 

"Yes,"  said  Helen,  boldly,  "would  you  trust 
me  with  that,  sir?  Oh,  if  you  knew  how  deep- 
ly I  am  interested  !"  The  tears  were  in  her  love- 
ly eyes. 

"  The  brief  has  gone  back  to  the  solicitor,  of 
course.  I  dare  say  he  will  let  you  read  it  upon  a 
proper  representation." 

"Thank  yon,  sir.  Will  you  tell  me  who  is 
the  solicitor  a*nd  where  he  lives  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  can't  remember  who  was  the  solicitor. 
That  is  the  very  first  thing  you  ought  to  have  as- 
certained.    It  was  no  use  coming  to  me." 

"Forgive  me  for  troubling  you,  sir,"  said 
Helen,  with  a  deep-  sigh. 


"  Not  at  all,  madam ;  I  am  only  sorry  I  can 
not  be  of  more  service.  But  do  let  me  advise 
j  you  to  employ  your  solicitor  to  make  these  pre- 
liminary inquiries.  Happy  to  consult  with  him, 
and  re-open  the  matter  should  he  discover  any 
fresh  evidence."  He  bowed  her  out,  and  sat 
down  to  a  brief  while  she  was  yet  in  sight. 

She  turned  away  heart-sick.  The  advice  she 
had  received  was  good  ;  but  she  shrank  from 
baring  her  heart  to  her  father's  solicitor. 

She  sat  disconsolate  awhile,  then  ordered  an- 
other cab,  and  drove  to  Wardlaw's  office.  It 
was  late,  and  Arthur  was  gone  home  ;  so,  in- 
deed, was  every  body,  except  one  young  subor- 
1  dinate,  who  was  putting  up  the  shutters.  u  Sir," 
said  she,  "  can  you  tell  me  where  old  Mr.  Pen- 
fold  lives  ?" 

"  Somewhere  in  the  subbubs,  miss.'' 
"  Yes,  sir ;  but  where  ?" 
"I  think  it  is  out  Pimlico  way." 
"Could  you  not  give  me  the  street  ?     I  would 
beg  you  to  accept  a  present  if  you  could." 

This  sharpened  the  young  gentleman's  wits ; 

he  went  in,  and  groped  here  and  there  till  he 

I  found  the  address,  and  gave  it  her :  No.  3  Fair- 

:  field  Cottages,  Primrose  Lane,  Pimlico.       She 

gave  him  a  sovereign,  to  his  infinite  surprise  and 

delight,  and  told  the  cabman  to  drive  to  the  hotel. 

The  next  moment  the  man  who  had  followed 

;  her  was  chatting  familiarly  with  the  subordinate, 

and  helping  him  to  put  up  the  shutters. 

"I  say,  Dick,"  said  the  youngster, "Penfolds 
is  up  in  the  market ;  a  duchess  was  here  just  now, 
I  and  gave  me  a  sov.  to  tell  her  where  he  lived. 
Wait  a  moment  till  I  spit  on  it  for  luck." 

The  agent,  however,  did  not  wait  to  witness 
;  that  interesting  ceremony.     He  went  back  to  his 
hansom  round  the  corner,  and  drove  at  once  to 
Arthur  Wardlaw's  house  with  the  information. 

Helen  noted  down  Michael  Penfold's  address 
in  her  diary,  and  would  have  gone  to  him  that 
evening,  but  she  was  to  dine  tete-a-ttte  with  her 
|  father. 

Next  day  she  went  down  to  3  Fairfield  Cot- 
tages  at  half  past  four.     On  the  way  her  heart 
i  palpitated,  for  this  was  a  very  important  inter- 
view.    Here  at  least  she  might  hope  to  find  some 
j  cine,  by  following  out  which  she  would  sooner 
,  or  later  establish  Robert's  innocence.     But  then 
came  a  fearful  thought:    "Why  had  not  his 
father  done  this  already,  if  it  was  possible  to  do 
it?     His  father  must  love  him.     His  father  must 
have  heard  his  own  story,  and  tested  it  in  every 
way.     Yet  his  father  remained  the  servant  of  a 
firm,  the  senior  partner  of  which  had  told  her  to 
her  face  Robert  was  guilty." 

It  was  a  strange  and  terrible  enigma.  Yet 
she  clung  to  the  belief  that  some  new  light  would 
come  to  her  from  Michael  Penfold.  Then  came 
bashful  fears.  '  •  How  should  she  account  to  Mr. 
Penfold  for  the  interest  she  took  in  his  own  son, 
she  who  was  affianced  to  Mr.  Penfold's  employ- 
er." She  arrived  at  3  Fairfield  Cottages  with 
her  cheeks  burning,  and  repeating  to  herself: 
1 '  Now  is  the  time  to  be  supple  as  a  woman  but 
obstinate  as  a  man." 

She  sent  the  cabman  in  to  inquire  for  Mr. 
Penfold  ;  a  sharp  girl  of  about  thirteen  came 
out  to  her,  and  told  her  Mr.  Penfold  was  not  at 
home. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  when  he  will  be  at  home  ?" 
'      "No,  miss.    He  have  gone  to  Scotland.     A 


120 


FOUL  PLAY. 


telegraphum  came  from  Wardlaws'  last  night, 
as  he  was  to  go  to  Scotland  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing ;  and  he  went  at  six  o'clock." 

"  Oh  dear  !     How  unfortunate  !" 

"  Who  shall  I  say  called,  miss  ?" 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  write.  What  time  did 
the  telegram  come  ?" 

"  Between  five  and  six  last  evening,  miss." 

She  returned  to  the  hotel.  Fate  seemed  to 
be  against  her.  Baffled  at  the  very  threshold ! 
At  the  hotel  she  found  Arthur  Wardlaw's  card 
and  a  beautiful  bouquet. 

She  sat  down  directly,  and  wrote  to  him  affec- 
tionately, and  asked  him  in  the  postscript  if  he 
could  send  her  a  report  of  the  trial.  She  re- 
ceived a  reply  directly,  that  he  had  inquired  in 
the  office,  for  one  of  the  clerks  had  reports  of  it ; 
but  this  clerk  was  unfortunately  out,  and  had 
locked  up  his  desk. 

Helen  sighed.  Her  feet  seemed  to  be  clogged 
at  every  step  in  this  inquiry. 

Next  morning,  however,  a  large  envelope 
came  for  her,  and  a  Mr.  Hand  wrote  to  her 
thus : — 

"Madam: — Having  been  requested  by  Mr. 
Arthur  Wardlaw  to  send  you  my  extracts  of  a 
trial,  the  -Queen  v.  Penfold,  I  herewith  forward 
the  same,  and  would  feel  obliged  by  your  return- 
ing them  at  your  convenience.  Your  obedient 
servant,  James  Hand." 

Helen  took  the  inclosed  extracts  to  her  bed- 
room, and  there  read  them  both  over  many 
times. 

In  both  these  reports  the  case  for  the  Crown 
was  neat,  clear,  cogent,  straightforward,  and 
supported  by  evidence.  The  defense  was  chiefly 
argument  of  counsel  to  prove  the  improbability 
of  a  clergyman  and  a  man  of  good  character 
passing  a  forged  note.  One  of  the  reports  stated 
that  Mr.  Arthur  Wardlaw,  a  son  of  the  principal 
witness,  had  taken  the  accusation  so  much  to 
heart  that  he  was  now  dangerously  ill  at  Oxford. 
The  other  report  did  not  contain  this,  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  stated  that  the  prisoner,  after  con- 
viction, had  endeavored  to  lay  the  blame  on  Mr. 
Arthur  Wardlaw,  but  that  the  judge  had  stopped 
him,  and  said  he  could  only  aggravate  his  offense 
by  endeavoring  to  cast  a  slur  upon  the  Wardlaws, 
who  had  both  shown  a  manifest  desire  to  shield 
him,  but  were  powerless  for  want  of  evidence. 

In  both  reports  the  summing  up  of  the  judge 
was  moderate  in  expression,  but  leaned  against 
the  prisoner  on  every  point,  and  corrected  the 
sophistical  reasoning  of  his  counsel  very  sensibly. 
Both  reports  said  an  expert  was  called  for  the 
prisoner,  whose  ingenuity  made  the  court  smile, 
but  did  not  counterbalance  the  evidence.  Helen 
sat  cold  as  ice  with  the  extracts  in  her  hand. 

Not  that  her  sublime  faith  was  shaken,,  but 
that  poor  Robert  appeared  to  have  been  so  calm- 
ly and  fairly  dealt  with  by  every  body.  Even 
Mr.  Hennessy,  the  counsel  for  the  Crown,  had 
opened  the  case  with  humane  regret,  and  con- 
fined himself  to  facts,  and  said  nobody  would  be 
more  pleased  than  he  would,  if  this  evidence 
could  be  contradicted,  or  explained  in  a  manner 
consistent  with  the  prisoner's  innocence. 

What  a  stone  she  had  undertaken  to  roll — up 
what  a  hill! 

What  was  to  be  her  next  step  ?     Go  to  the 


:  Museum,  which  was  now  open  to  her,  and  read 
more  reports  ?     She  shrank  from  that. 

"  The  newspapers  are  all  against  him,"  said 
she  ;  "  and  I  don't  want  to  be  told  he  is  guilty, 
when  I  know  he  is  innocent." 

She  now  re-examined  the  extracts  with  a  view 
to  names,  and  found  the  only  names  mentioned 
were  those  of  the  counsel.  The  expert's  name 
was  not  given  in  either.  However,  she  knew 
that  from  Robert.  She  resolved  to  speak  to 
Mr.  Hennessy  first,  and  try  and  get  at  the  de- 
fendant's solicitor  through  him. 

She  found  him  out  by  the  Law  Directory,  and 
called  at  a  few  minutes  past  four. 

Hennessy  was  almost  the  opposite  to  Tolle- 
mache.  He  was  about  the  size  of  a  gentleman's 
wardrobe  ;  and,  like  most  enormous  men,  good- 
'  natured.  He  received  her,  saw  with  his  practised 
j  eye  that  she  was  no  common  person,  and,  after 
a  slight  hesitation  on  professional  grounds,  heard 
her  request.  He  sent  for  his  note-book,  found 
the  casein  one  moment,  re-mastered  it  in  anoth- 
er, and  told  her  the  solicitor  for  the  Crown  in  that 
case  was  Freshfield. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  you  want  to  know  who  was 
the  defendant's  solicitor?  Jenkins,  a  stamped 
envelope.  Write  your  name  and  address  on 
that." 

While  she  was  doing  it,  he  scratched  a  line  to 
Mr.  Freshfield,  asking  him  to  send  the  required 
information  to  the  inclosed  address. 

She  thanked  Mr.  Hennessy  with  the  tears  in 
her  eyes. 

"  I  dare  not  ask  you  whether  you  think  him 
guilty,"  she  said. 

Hennessy  shook  his  head  with  an  air  of  good- 
natured  rebuke. 

"  You  must  not  cross-examine  counsel,"  said 
he :  "  but,  if  it  will  be  any  comfort  to  you,  I'll 
say  this  much,  there  was  just  a  shadow  of  doubt, 
and  Tollemache  certainly  let  a  chance  slip.  If 
I  had  defended  your  friend,  I  would  have  insist- 
ed on  a  postponement  of  the  trial  until  this 
Arthur  Wardlaw"  (looking  at  his  note-book) 
"  could  be  examined,  either  in  court  or  other- 
wise, if  he  was  really  dying.  Is  he  dead,  do»you 
know?" 
"No." 

"  I  thought  not.     Sick  witnesses  are  often  at 
death's  door ;  but  I  never  knew  one  pass  the 
threshold.     Ha!  ha!     The  trial  ought  to  have 
been  postponed  till  he  got  well.     If  a  judge  re- 
fused me  a  postponement  in  such  a  case,  I  would 
make  him  so  odious  to  the  jury,  that  the  pris- 
oner would  get  a  verdict  in  spite  of  his  teeth." 
"Then  you  think  he  was  badly  defended?" 
"  No  ;  that  is  saying  a  great  deal  more  than  I 
|  could  justify.     But  there  are  counsel  who  trust 
too  much  to  their  powers  of  reasoning,  and  un- 
j  derrate   a   chink   in  the    evidence  pro  or  con. 
!  Practice,  and  a  few  back-falls,  cure  them  of  that." 
Mr.  Hennessy  uttered  this  general  observation 
with  a  certain  change  of  tone,«  which  showed  he 
■  thought  he  had  said  as  much  or  more  than  his 
!  visitor  had  any  right  to  expect  from  him ;  and 
j  she  therefore  left  him,  repeating   her   thanks. 
She  went  home,  pondering  on  every  word  he  had 
I  said,  and  entered  it  all  in  her  journal,  with  the 
|  remark ;   "  How  strange  !  the  first  doubt  of  Rob- 
ert's guilt  comes  to  me  from  the  lawyer  who 
|  caused  him  to  be  found  guilty.     He  calls  it  the 
I  shadow  of  a  doubt." 


FOUL  PLAY. 


121 


That  very  evening,  Mr.  Freshfield  had  the 
courtesy  to  send  her  by  messenger  the  name  and 
address  of  the  solicitor  who  had  defended  Rob- 
ert Pen  fold — Lovejoy  and  James,  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields.  She  called  on  them,  and  sent  in  her 
card.  She  was  kept  waiting  a  long  time  in  the 
outer  office,  and  felt  ashamed,  and  sick  at  heart, 
seated  among  young  clerks.  At  last  she  was 
admitted,  and  told  Mr.  Lovejoy  she  and  her  fa- 
ther, General  Rolleston,  were  much  interested  in 
a  late  client  of  his,  Mr.  Robert  Penfold ;  and 
would  he  be  kind  enough  to  let  her  see  the  brief 
for  the  defense  ? 

"  Are  you  a  relation  of  the  Penfolds,  mad- 
am ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Helen,  blushing. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Lovejoy. 

He  touched  a  hand-bell.     A  clerk  appeared. 

"Ask  Mr.  Upton  to  come  to  me." 

Mr.  Upton,  the  managing  clerk,  came  in  due 
course,  and  Mr.  Lovejoy  asked  him  : — 

"Who  instructed  us  in  the  Queen  v.  Pen- 
fold  ?" 

"It  was  Mr.  Michael  Penfold,  sir." 

Mr.  Lovejoy  then  told  Helen  that  she  must 
just  get  a  line  from  Mr.  Michael  Penfold,  and 
then  the  papers  should  be  submitted  to  her. 

"  Yes :  but,  sir,"  said  Helen,  "Mr.  Penfold  is 
in  Scotland." 

"  Well,  but  you  can  write  to  him." 

"  No ;  I  don't  know  in  what  part  of  Scotland 
he  is." 

"  Then  you  are  not  very  intimate  with  him  ?" 

"  No,  sir  :  my  acquaintance  is  with  Mr.  Rob- 
ert Penfold." 

"  Have  you  a  line  from  him?" 

"  I  have  no  written  authority  from  him ;  but 
will  vou  not  take  my  word  that  I  act  by  his  de- 
sire ?" 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  the  lawyer,  "we  go 
by  rule.  There  are  certain  forms  to  be  observed 
in  these  things.  I  am  sure  your  own  good  sense 
will  tell  you  it  would  be  cruel  and  improper  of 
me  to  submit  those  papers  without  an  order  from 
Robert  or  Michael  Penfold.  Pray  consider  this 
as  a  delay,  not  a  refusal." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Helen;  "but  I  meet  with 
nothing  but  delays,  and  my  heart  is  breaking 
under  them." 

The  solicitor  looked  sorry,  but  would  not  -act 
irregularly.  She  went  home  sighing,  and  con- 
demned to  wait  the  return  of  Michael  Penfold. 

The  cab  door  was  opened  for  her  by  a  seedy 
man  she  fancied  she  had  seen  before. 

Baffled  thus,  and  crippled  in  every  movement 
she  made,  however  slight,  in  favor  of  Robert  Pen- 
fold,  she  was  seduced  on  the  other  hand  into  all 
the  innocent  pleasures  of  the  town.  Her  adven- 
ture had  transpired  somehow  or  other,  and  all 
General  Rolleston's  acquaintances  hunted  him 
up  ;  and  both  father  and  daughter  were  courted  ! 
by  people  of  ton  as  lions.  A  shipwrecked  beauty 
is  not  offered  to  society  every  day.  Even  her  ' 
own  sex  raved  about  her,  and  about  the  chain 
of  beautiful  pearls  she  had  picked  up  somehow 
on  her  desolate  island.  She  always  wore  them  ; 
they  linked  her  to  that  sacred  purpose  she  seem- 
ed to  be  forgetting.  Her  father  drew  her  with 
him  into  the  vortex,  hiding  from  her  that  he 
embarked  in  it  principally  for  her  sake,  and  she 
went  down  the  current  with  him  out  of  filial  duty. 
Thus  unfathomable  difficulties  thrust  her  back 


from  her  up-hill  task :  and  the  world,  with  soft 
but  powerful  hand,  drew  her  away  to  it.  Arthur 
brought  her  a  choice  bouquet,  or  sent  her  a 
choice  bouquet,  every  evening,  but  otherwise 
did  not  intrude  much  upon  her ;  and  though 
she  was  sure  he  would  assist  her,  if  she  asked 
him,  gratitude  and  delicacy  forbade  her  to  call 
him  again  to  her  assistance.  She  preferred  to 
await  the  return  of  Michael  Penfold.  She  had 
written  to  him  at  the  office  to  tell  him  she  had 
news  of  his  son,  and  begged  him  to  give  her  in- 
stant notice  of  his  return  from  Scotland. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  he  did  not  write  to 
her.  She  began  to  chafe,  and  then  to  pine. 
Her  father  saw,  and  came  to  a  conclusion  that 
her  marriage  with  Arthur  ought  to  be  hastened. 
He  resolved  to  act  quietly  but  firmly  towards  that 
end. 


CPIAPTER  LVI. 

Up  to  this  time  Helen's*  sex,  and  its  attributes, 
had  been  a  great  disadvantage  to  her.  She  had 
been  stopped  on  the*  very  threshold  of  her  in- 
quiry by  petty  difficulties  which  a  man  would 
have  soon  surmounted.  But  one  fine  day  the 
scale  gave  a  little  turn,  and  she  made  a  little 
discovery,  thanks  to  her  sex.  Women,  whether 
it  is  that  they  are  born  to  be  followed,  or  are  ac- 
customed to  be  followed,  seem  to  have  eyes  in 
the  backs  of  their  .heads,  and  instinct  to  divine 
when  somebody  is  after  them.  This  inexperi- 
enced girl,  who  had  missed  seeing  many  things 
our  readers  have  seen,  observed  in  merely  pass- 
ing her  window  a  seedy  man  in  the  courtyard 
of  the  hotel.  Would  you  believe  it,  she  instant- 
ly recognized  the  man  who  had  opened  her  cab- 
door  for  her  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  Quick  as 
lightning  it  passed  through  her  mind,  "  Why  do 
I  see  the  same  figure  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields 
and  at  Charing  Cross?"  At  various  intervals 
she  passed  the  window;  and  twice  she  saw  the 
man  again.  She  pondered,  and  determined  to 
try  a  little  experiment.  Robert  Penfold,  it  may 
be  remembered,  had  mentioned  an  expert  as 
one  of  the  persons  she  was  to  see.  She  had 
looked  for  his  name  in  the  Directory;  but  ex- 
perts were  not  down  in  the  book.  Another  fa- 
tality !  But  at  last  she  had  found  Undercliff,  a 
lithographer,  and  she  fancied  that  must  be  the 
same  person.  She  did  not  hope  to  learn  much, 
from  him  ;  the  newspapers  said  his  evidence  had 
caused  a  smile.  She  had  a  distinct  object  in 
visiting  him,  the  nature  of  which  will  appear. 
She  ordered  a  cab,  and  dressed  herself.  She 
came  down,  and  entered  the  cab ;  but,  instead 
of  telling  the  man  where  to  drive,  she  gave  him 
a  slip  of  paper,  containing  the  address  of  the 
lithographer.  "Drive  there,"  said  she,  a  little 
mysteriously.  The  cabman  winked,  suspecting 
an  intrigue,  and  went  off  to  the  place.  There 
she  learned  Mr.  Undercliff  had  moved  to  Frith 
Street,  Soho,  number  not  known.  She  told  the 
cabman  to  drive  slowly  up  and  down  the  street, 
but  could  not  find  the  name.  At  last  she  ob- 
served some  lithographs  in  a  window.  She  let 
the  cabman  go  all  down  the  street,  then  stopped 
him,  and  paid  him  off.  She  had  no  sooner  done 
this  than  she  walked  very  briskly  back,  and  en- 
tered the  little  shop,  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Un- 
dercliff.     He  was  out,  and  not  expected  back 


122 


FOUL  PLAY. 


for  an  hour.  "I  will  wait,"  said  Helen;  and 
she  sat  down  with  her  head  upon  her  white 
hand.  A  seedy  man  passed  the  window  rapid- 
ly with  a  busy  air  ;  and,  if  his  eye  shot  a  glance 
into  the  shop,  it  was  so  slight  and  careless  no- 
body could  suspect  he  was  a  spy  and  had  done 
his  work  effectually  as  he  flashed  by.  In  that 
moment  the  young  lady,  through  the  chink  of 
her  fingers,  which  she  had  opened  for  that  pur- 
pose, not  only  recognized  the  man,  but  noticed 
his  face,  his  hat,  his  waistcoat,  his  dirty  linen, 
and  the  pin  in  his  neck-tie. 

"  Ah  !"  said  she,  and  flushed  to  the  brow. 

She  lifted  up  her  head  and  became  conscious 
of  a  formidable  old  woman,  who  was  standing  be- 
hind the  counter  at  a  side  door,  eying  her  with 
the  severest  scrutiny.  This  old  woman  was  tall 
and  thin,  and  had  a  fine  face,  the  lower  part  of 
which  was  feminine  enough  ;  but  the  forehead 
and  brows  were  alarming.  Though  her  hair  was 
silvery,  the  brows  were  black  and  shaggy,  and 
the  forehead  was  divided  by  a  vertical  furrow 
into  two  temples.  Under  those  shaggy  eyebrows 
shone  dark  gray  eyes,  that  passed  for  black  with 
most  people ;  and  those  eyes  were  fixed  on  Helen, 
reading  her.  Helen's  light  hazel  eyes  returned 
their  gaze.  She  blushed,  and,  still  looking,  said, 
"  Pray,  madam,  can  I  see  Mr.  Undercliff  ?" 

"My  son  is  out  for  the  day,  miss,"  said  the 
old  lady,  civilly. 

"Oh  dear!  how  unfortunate  I  am!"  said 
Helen,  with  a  sigh. 

"  He  comes  back  to-night.  You  can  sec  him 
to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock.  A  question  of  hand- 
writing?" 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Helen  :  "  but  he  was  wit- 
ness in  favor  of  a  person  I  know  was  innocent." 

"But  he  was  found  guilty,"  said  the  other, 
with  cool  keenness. 

"  Yes,  madam  :  and  he  has  no  friend  to  clear 
him  but  me:  a  poor  weak  girl,  baffled  and  de- 
feated whichever  way  I  turn."  She  began  to 
cry. 

The  old  woman  looked  at  her  crying  with 
that  steady  composure  which  marks  her  sex  on 
these  occasions ;  and,  when  she  was  better,  said 
quietly,  "  You  are  not  so  weak  as  you  think." 
She  added,  after  a  while,  "  If  you  wish  to  retain 
my  son,  you  had  better  leave  a  fee." 

"  With  pleasure,  madam.     What  is  the  fee  ?" 

"  One  guinea.  Of  course,  there  is  a  separate 
charge  for  any  work  he  may  do  for  you." 

"  That  is  but  reasonable,  madam."  And  with 
this  she  paid  the  fee,  and  rose  to  go. 

"  Shall  I  send  any  one  home  with  you?" 

'•No,  thank  you,"  said  Helen.     "  Why  ?" 

"Because  you  are  followed,  and  because  you 
are  not  used  to  be  followed." 

"  Why,  how  did  you  find  that  out?" 

"  By  your  face,  when  a  man  passed  the  win- 
dow— a  shabby-genteel  fellow  ;  he  was  employed 
by  some  gentleman,  no  doubt.  Such  faces  as 
yours  will  be  followed  in  London.  If  you  feel 
uneasy,  miss,  I  will  put  on  my  bonnet  and  see 
you  home." 

Helen  was  surprised  at  this  act  of  substantial 
civility  from  the  Gorgon.  "  Oh,  thank  you,  Mrs. 
Undercliff," said  she.  "No,  I  am  not  the  least 
afraid.  Let  them  follow  me,  I  am  doing  noth- 
ing that  I  am  ashamed  of.  Indeed,  I  am  glad 
I  am  thought  worth  the  trouble  of  following.  It 
shows  me  I  am  not  so  thoroughly  contemptible. 


Good-bye,  and  many  thanks.     Ten  o'clock  to- 
morrow." 

And  she  walked  home  without  looking  once 
behind  her  till  the  hotel  was  in  sight ;  then  she 
stopped  at  a  shop  window,  and  in  a  moment  her 
swift  eye  embraced  the  whole  landscape.  But 
the  shabby-genteel  man  was  nowhere  in  sight. 


CHAPTER  LVII. 

When  Joseph  Wylie  disappeared  from  the 
scene,  Nancy  Rouse  made  a  discovery  which 
very  often  follows  the  dismissal  of  a  suitor — that 
she  was  considerably  more  attached  to  him  than 
she  had  thought.  The  house  became  dull,  the 
subordinate  washerwomen  languid ;  their  taci- 
turnity irritated  and  depressed  Nancy  by  turns. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  Michael  Pcnfold  discov- 
ered that  Helen  had  come  back  safe.  He  came 
into  her  parlor,  beaming  with  satisfaction,  and 
told  her  of  the  good  news.  It  gave  her  im- 
mense delight  at  first.  But,  when  she  had  got 
used  to  her  joy  on  that  score,  she  began  to  think 
she  had  used  Joe  Wylie  very  ill.  Now  that 
Helen  was  saved,  she  could  no  longer  realize 
that  Wylie  was  so  very  much  to  blame. 

She  even  persuaded  herself  that  his  disappear- 
ance was  the  act  of  a  justly  offended  man  ;  and, 
as  he  belonged  to  a  class  of  whose  good  sense 
she  had  a  poor  opinion,  she  was  tormented  with 
fears  that  he  would  do  some  desperate  act — 
drown  himself,  or  go  to  sea ;  or,  worst  of  all, 
marry  some  trollop.  She  became  very  anxious 
and  unhappy.  Before  this  misfortune  she  used 
to  go  about  singing  the  first  verse  of  a  song,  and 
whistling  the  next,  like  any  ploughboy ;  an  ec- 
centric performance,  but  it  made  the  house  gay. 
Now  both  song  and  whistle  were  suspended  ! 
and,  instead,  it  was  all  hard  work  and  hard  cry- 
ing ;  turn  about. 

She  attached  herself  to  Michael  Penfold  be- 
cause he  had  known  trouble,  and  was  sympa- 
thetic :  and  these  two  opened  their  hearts  to  one 
another,  and  formed  a  friendship  that  was  very 
honest  and  touching. 

The  scene  of  their  conversation  and  mutual 
consolation  was  Nancy's  parlor  ;  a  little  mite  of 
a  room  she  had  partitioned  off  from  her  busi- 
ness. "For,"  said  she,  "a  lady  I'll  be — after 
my  work  is  done — if  it  is  only  in  a  cupboard." 
The  room  had  a  remarkably  large  fireplace, 
which  had  originally  warmed  the  whole  floor, 
but  now  was  used  as  a  ventilator  only.  The 
gas  would  have  been  stifling  without  it.  As  for 
lighting  a  fire  in  it,  that  was  out  of  the  question. 

On  a  certain  evening,  soon  after  Mr.  Penfold's 
return  from  Scotland,  the  pair  sat  over  their  tea, 
and  the  conversation  fell  on  the  missing  sweet- 
heart. Michael  had  been  thinking  it  over,  and 
was  full  of  encouragement.     He  said : 

"Miss  Rouse,  something  tells  me  that,  if  poor 
Mr.  Wylie  could  only  know  your  heart,  he  would 
turn  up  again  directly.  What  we  ought  to  do  is 
to  send  somebody  to  look  for  him  in  all  the  sail- 
ors' haunts :  some  sharp  fellow —  Dear  me, 
what  a  knocking  they  keep  up  next  door !" 

"  Oh,  that  is  always  the  way  when  one  wants 
a  quiet  chat.  Drat  "the  woman  !  I'll  have  her 
indicted." 

"  No,  you  won't,  Miss  Rouse :  she  is  a  poor 


FOUL  PLAY. 


123 


soul,  and  has  got  no  business  except  letting  lodg- 
ings ;  she  is  not  like  you.  But  I  do  hope  she 
will  be  so  kind  as  not  to  come  quite  through 
the  wall!" 

"Dear  heart!"  said  Nancy,  "go  on,  and 
never  mind  her  noise,  which  it  is  worse  than  a 
horgan-grinder." 

"  Well,  then,  if  you  can't  find  him  that  way, 

I  say — Advertise." 

"  Me !"  cried  Nancy,  turning  very  red.  "  Do  I 
look  like  a  woman  as  would  advertise  for  a  man  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am  :  quite  the  reverse.  But  what  I 
mean  is,  you  might  put  in  something  not  too 
plain.  For  instance  :  If  J.  W.  will  return  to  N. 
E.,  all  will  be  forgotten  and  forgiven." 

"He'd  have  the  upper  hand  of  me  tor  life," 
said  Nancy.  "No,  no ;  I  won't  advertise  for  the 
fool.  What  right  had  he  to  run  off  at  the  first 
word  ?  He  ought  to  know  my  bark  is  worse 
than  my  bite  by  this  time.     You  can,  though." 

"Me  bite,  ma'am?"  said  the  old  gentleman. 

'.*  Bite  ?  no :  advertise,  since  you're  so  fond  of 
it.  Come,  you  sit  down  and  write  one  ;  and  I'll 
pay  for  it,  for  that  matter." 

Michael  sat  down,  and  drew  up  the  following : 

II  If  Mr.  Joseph  Wylie  will  call  on  Michael  Pen- 
fold,  at  No.  3  E.  C.,  he  will  hear  of  something 
to  his  advantage." 

"To  his  advantage?"  said  Nancy,  doubtfully. 
"Why  not  tell  him  the  truth  ?" 

"  Why,  that  is  the  truth,  ma'am.  Isn't  it  to 
his  advantage  to  be  reconciled  to  an  honest,  vir- 
tuous, painstaking  lady,  that  honors  him  with 
her  affection — and  me  with  her  friendship  ?  Be- 
sides, it  is  the  common  form  ;  and  there  is  noth- 
ing like  sticking  to  form." 

"Mr.  Penfold,"  said  Nancy,  "any  one  can 
see  you  was  born  a  gentleman ;  and  I  am  a  deal 
prouder  to  have  you  and  your  washing  than  I 
should  him  as  pays  you  your  wages  :  pale  eyes — 
pale  hair — pale  eyebrows — I  wouldn't  trust  him 
to  mangle  a  duster." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Rouse  !  Pray  don't  disparage  my 
good  master  to  me." 

"I  can't  help  it,  sir;  thought  is  free,  espe- 
cially in  this  here  compartment.  Better  speak 
one's  mind  than  die  o'  the  sulks.  So  shut  your 
ear  when  my  music  jars.  But  one  every  other 
day  is  enough:  if  he  won't  come  back  for  that, 
why,  he  must  go,  and  I  must  look  out  for  anoth- 
er ;  there's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  came 
out  of  it.  Still,  I'll  not  deny  I  have  a  great  re- 
spect for  poor  Joe.  Oh,  Mr.  Penfold,  what  shall 
I  do?     Oh,  oh,  oh!" 

"  There,  there,"  said  Michael,  "  I'll  put  this 
into  the  Times  every  day." 

"You  are  a  good  soul,  Mr.  Penfold.  Oh, 
oh,  oh  !" 

When  he  had  finished  the  advertisement  in  a 
clerkly  hand,  and  she  had  finished  her  cry,  she 
felt  comparatively  comfortable,  and  favored  Mr. 
Penfold  with  some  reflections. 

"Dear  heart,  Mr.  Penfold,  how  ycu  and  I  do 
take  to  one  another,  to  be  sure.  But  so  we 
ought :  for  we  are  honest  folk,  the  pair,  and  has 
had  a  hard  time.  Don't  it  never  strike  you  rath- 
er curious  that  three  thousand  pounds  was  at  the 
bottom  of  both'our  troubles,  yourn  and  mine  ?  I 
might  have  married  Joe,  and  been  a  happy  wom- 
an with  him ;  but  the  devil  puts  in  my  head — 
There  you  go  again  hammering!  Life  ain't 
worth  having  next  door  to  that  lodging-house. 


Drat  the  woman,  if  she  must  peck,  why  don't 
she  go  in  the  churchyard  and  peck  her  own 
grave  ;  which  we  shall  never  be  quiet  till  she  is 
there :  and  these  here  gimcrack  houses,  they 
won't  stand  no  more  pecking  at  than  a  soap- 
sud.  Ay,  that's  what  hurts  me,  Mr.  Penfold  : 
the  Lord  had  given  him  and  me  health  and 
strength  and  honesty ;  our  betters  had  wed  for 
love  and  wrought  for  money,  as  the  saying  is  ; 
but  I  must  go  again  Nature,  that  cried  '  Come 
couple  ;'  and  must  bargain  for  three  thousand 
pounds.  So  now  I've  lost  the  man,  and  not  got 
the  money,  nor  never  shall :  and,  if  I  had,  I'd 
burn —     Ah — ah — ah — ah — ah  !" 

This  tirade  ended  in  stifled  screams  of  terror, 
caused  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  human 
hand,  in  a  place  and  in  a  manner  well  adapted 
to  shake  the  stoutest  laundress's  nerves. 

This  hand  came  through  the  brick-work  of 
the  chimney-place,  and  there  remained  a  mo- 
ment or  two  :  then  slowly  retired,  and,  as  it  re- 
tired, something  was  heard  to  fall  upon  the  shav- 
ings and  tinsel  of  the  fireplace. 

Nancy,  by  a  feminine  impulse,  put  her  hands 
before  her  face,  to  hide  this  supernatural  hand  ; 
and,  when  she  found  courage  to  withdraw  them, 
and  glare  at  the  place,  there  was  no  aperture 
whatever  in  the  brick-work  ;  and,  consequently, 
the  hand  appeared  to  have  traversed  the  solid 
material,  both  coming  and  going. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Penfold,"  cried  Nancy;  "I'm  a 
sinful  woman.  This  comes  of  talking  of  the 
devil  arter  sunset ;"  and  «she  sat  trembling  so 
that  the  very  floor  shook. 

Mr.  Penfold's  nerves  were  not  strong.  He 
and  Nancy  both  huddled  together  for  mutual 
protection,"  and  their  faces  had  not  a  vestige  of 
color  left  in  them. 

However,  after  a  period  of  general  paralysis, 
Penfold  whispered  : — 

"I  heard  it  drop  something  on  the  shavings." 

"  Then  we  shall  be  all  in  a  blaze  o'  brimstone," 
shrieked  Nancy,  wringing  her  hands. 

And  they  waited  to  see. 

Then,  as  no  conflagration  took  place,  Mr.  Pen- 
fold  got  up,  and  said  he  must  go  and  see  what 
it  was  the  hand  had  dropped. 

Nancy,  in  whom  curiosity  was  beginning  to 
battle  with  terror,  let  him  go  to  the  fireplace 
without  a  word  of  objection,  and  then  cried  out, 

"  Don't  go  anigh  it,  sir  ;  it  will  do  you  a  mis- 
chief; don't  touch  it  whatever.     Take  the  tongs.'" 

He  took  the  tongs,  and  presently  flung  into 
the  middle  of  the  room  a  small  oil-skin  packet. 
This,  as  it  lay  on  the  ground,  they  both  eyed 
like  two  deer  glowering  at  a  piece  of  red  cloth, 
and  ready  to  leap  back  over  the  moon  if  it 
should  show  signs  of  biting.  But  oil-skin  is  not 
preternatural,  nor  has  tradition  connected  it, 
however  remotely,  with  the  Enemy  of  man. 

Consequently,  a  great  revulsion  took  place  in 
Nancy,  and  she  passed  from  fear  to  indignation 
at  having  been  frightened  so. 

She  ran  to  the  fireplace,  and,  putting  her  head 
up   the  chimney,  screamed,  "  Heave  your  dirt 
I  where  you  heave  your  love,  ye  Brazen  !" 

While  she  was  objurgating  her  neighbor, 
|  whom,  with  feminine  justice,  she  held  responsi- 
j  ble  for  every  act  done  in  her  house,  Penfold  un- 
|  did  the  packet,  and  Nancy  returned  to  her  scat, 
with  her  mind  more  at  ease,  to  examine  the 
1  contents. 


124 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"  Bank-notes !"  cried  Penfold. 

"Ay,"  said  Nancy,  incredulously,  "they  do 
look  like  bank-notes,  and  feel  like  'em  ;  but  they 
ain't  wrote  like  them.  Bank-notes  ain't  wrote 
black  like  that  in  the  left-hand  corner." 

Penfold  explained. 

"  Ten-pound  notes  are  not,  nor  fives ;  but 
large  notes  are.     These  are  all  fifties." 

"  Fifty  whats  ?" 

"  Fifty  pounds." 

"What,  each  of  them  bits  of  paper  worth  fif- 
ty pounds  ?" 

"  Yes.  Let  us  count  them  ;  1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6, 
7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12,  13,  14,  15,  16,  17,  18,— 
Oh  Lord! — 20.  Why,  it  is  two  thousand  pounds, 
■ — just  two  thousand  pounds.  It  is  the  very  sum 
that  ruined  me ;  it  did  not  belong  to  me,  and 
its  being  in  the  house  ruined  my  poor  Robert. 
And  this  does  not  belong  to  you.  Lock  all  the 
doors,  bar  all  the  windows,  and  burn  them  before 
the  police  come." 

"Wait  a  bit," said  Nancy — "wait  a  bit." 

They  sat  on  each  side  of  the  notes  ;  Penfold 
agitated  and  terrified,  Nancy  confounded  and 
perplexed. 


CHAPTER  LVIII. 

Punctually  at  ten  o'clock  Helen  returned  to 
Frith  Street,  and  found  Mr.  UnderclifF  behind  a 
sort  of  counter,  employed  in  tracing  ;  a  work- 
man was  seated  at  some  little  distance  from  him  ; 
both  bent  on  their  work. 

"Mr.  Undercliff?"  said  Helen. 

He  rose,  and  turned  towards  her  politely, — a 
pale,  fair  man,  with  a  keen  gray  eye  and  a  pleas- 
ant voice  and  manner:  "I  am  Edward  Under- 
clifF.    You  come  by  appointment?" 

1 '  Yes,  sir." 

"A  question  of  handwriting?" 

"  Not  entirely,  sir.  Do  you  remember  giving 
witness  in  favor  of  a  young  clergyman,  Mr.  Rob- 
ert Penfold,  who  was  accused  of  forgery  ?" 

"I  remember  the  circumstance,  but  not  the 
details." 

"Oh  dear  I  that  is  unfortunate,"  said  Helen, 
with  a  deep  sigh  ;  she  often  had  to  sigh  now. 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  the  expert,  "I  am 
called  on  such  a  multitude  of  trials.  However, 
I  take  notes  of  the  principal  ones.  What  year 
was  it  in  ?" 

"In  18G4." 

Mr.  Undercliff  went  to  a  set  of  drawers  ar- 
ranged chronologically,  and  found  his  notes  di- 
rectly. "  It  was  a  forged  bill,  madam,  indorsed 
and  presented  by  Penfold.  I  was  called  to  prove 
that  the  bill  was  not  in  the  handwriting  of  Pen- 
fold.  Here  is  my  fac-simile  of  the  Robert  Pen- 
fold  indorsed  upon  the  bill  by  the  prisoner." 
He  handed  it  her,  and  she  examined  it  with  in- 
terest. "  And  here  are  fac-similes  of  genuine 
writing  by  John  Wardlaw ;  and  here  is  a  copy 
of  the  forged  note." 

He  laid  it  on  the  table  before  her.  She  start- 
ed, and  eyed  it  with  horror.  It  was  a  long  time 
before  she  could  speak.  At  length  she  said, 
"  And  that  wicked  piece  of  paper  destroyed  Rob- 
ert Penfold." 

"Not  that  piece  of  paper,  but  the  original; 
this  is  a  fac-simile,  so  far  as  the  writing  is  con- 
cerned.    It  was  not  necessary  in  this  case  to 


imitate  paper  and  color.  Stay,  here  is  a  sheet 
on  which  I  have  lithographed  the  three  styles  ; 
that  will  enable  you  to  follow  my  comparison. 
But  perhaps  that  would  not  interest  you." 
Helen  had  the  tact  to  say  it  would.  Thus  en- 
couraged, the  expert  showed  her  that  Robert 
Penfold's  writing  had  nothing  in  common  with 
the  forged  note.  He  added  :  "I  also  detected 
in  the  forged  note  habits  which  were  entirely 
absent  from  the  true  writing  of  John  Wardlaw. 
You  will  understand  there  were  plenty  of  un- 
doubted specimens  in  court  to  go  by." 

"Then,  oh,  sir,"  said  Helen,  "  Robert  Penfold 
was  not  guilty." 

"  Certainly  not  of  writing  the  forged  note. 
I  swore  that,  and  I'll  swear  it  again.  But  when 
it  came  to  questions  whether  he  had  passed  the 
note,  and  whether  he  knew  it  was  forged,  that 
was  quite  out  of  my  province." 

"I  can  understand  that,"  said  Helen  ;  "but 
you  heard  the  trial ;  you  are  very  intelligent,  sir, 
you  must  have  formed  some  opinion  as  to  whether 
he  was  guilty  or  not." 

The  expert  shook  his  head.  "Madam,"  said 
he,  "mine  is  a  profound  and  difficult  arr,  which 
aims  at  certainties.  Very  early  in  my  career  I 
found  that  to  master  that  art  1  must  be  single- 
minded,  and  not  allow  my  ear  to  influence  my 
eye.  By  purposely  avoiding  all  reasoning  from 
external  circumstances,  I  have  distanced  my 
competitors  in  expertise  ;  but  I  sometimes  think 
I  have  rather  weakened  my  powers  of  conjecture 
through  disuse.  Now,  if  my  mother  had  been 
at  the  trial,  she  would  give  you  an  opinion  of 
some  value  on  the  outside  facts.  But  that  is 
not  my  line.  If  you  feel  sure  he  was  innocent, 
and  want  me  to  aid  you.  you  must  get  hold  of  the 
handwriting  of  every  person  who  was  likely  to 
know  old  Wardlaw's  handwriting,  and  so  might 
have  imitated  ir ;  all  the  clerks  in  his  office,  to 
begin  with.  Nail  the  forger ;  that  is  your  only 
chance." 

"What,  sir!"  said  Helen,  with  surprise,  "if 
you  saw  the  true  handwriting  of  the  person  who 
wrote  that  forged  note,  should  you  recognize  it?" 

"  Why  not?  It  is  difficult;  but  I  have  done 
it  hundreds  of  times." 

"  Oh  !     Is  forgery  so  common  ?" 

"  No  :  but  I  am  in  all  the  cases  ;  and,  besides, 
I  do  a  great  deal  in  a  business  that  requires  the 
same  kind  of  expertise — anonymous  letters.  I 
detect  assassins  of  that  kind  by  the  score.  A 
gentleman  or  lady,  down  in  the  country,  gets  a 
poisoned  arrow  by  the  post,  or  perhaps  a  shower 
of  them.  They  are  always  in  disguised  hand- 
writing ;  those  who  received  them  send  them  up 
to  me,  with  writings  of  all  the  people  they  sus- 
pect. This  disguise  is  generally  more  or  less 
superficial ;  five  or  six  unconscious  habits  re- 
main below  it,  and  often  these  undisguised  habits 
are  the  true  characteristics  of  the  writer.  And 
I'll  tell  you  something  curious,  madam  ;  it  is 
quite  common  for  all  the  suspected  people  to  be 
innocent ;  and  then  I  write  back, '  Send  me  the 
handwriting  of  the  people  you  suspect  the  least  ? 
and  among  them  I  often  find  the  assassin." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Undercliff,"  said  Helen,  "you  make 
my  heart  sick." 

"Oh,  it  is  a  vile  world,  for  that  matter,"  said 
the  expei't ;  "and  the  country  no  better  than 
the  town,  for  all  it  looks  so  sweet  with  its  green 
fields  and  purling  rills.     There  they  sow  anony- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


125 


mous  letters  like  barley  :  the  very  girls  write  j  The  expert  was  secretly  glad  to  be  released 
anonymous  letters  that  make  my  hair  stand  on  ;  from  a  case  in  which  there  were  no  materials ; 
end.     Yes,  it  is  a  vile  world."    '  |  and  so  Helen  escaped  unobserved  except  by  one 

"Don't  you  believe  him,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  !  of  her  own  sex.  She  saw  directly  what  Mrs. 
Undercliff,  appearing  suddenly.  Then  turning  j  Undercliff  had  done  for  her,  and  lifted  her  sweet 
to  her  son,  "  How  can  you  measure  the  world  ?  |  eyes,  thick  with  tears,  to  thank  her.  Mrs.  Un- 
You  live  in  a  little  one  of  your  own — a  world  of  j  dercliff  smiled  maternally,  and  next  these  two 
forgers  and  anonymous  writers;  you  see  so  many  j  ladies  did  a  stroke  of  business  in  the  twinkling 
of  these,  you  fancy  they  are  common  as  dirt ;  j  of  an  eye,  and  without  a  word  spoken,  whereof 
but  they  are  only  common  to  you  because  they    anon.     Helen  being  once  more  composed,  Mrs 


all  come  your  way." 

"  Oh,  that  is  it,  is  it  ?"  said  the  expert,  doubt- 
fully. 

"Yes,  that  is  it,  Ned,"  said  the  old  lady,  quiet- 
ly; then  after  a  pause  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to 
do  your  very  best  for  this  young  lady." 

"I  always  do,"  said  the  artist.  "But  how 
can  I  judge  without  materials?  And  she  brings 
me  none." 

Mrs.  Undercliff  turned  to  Helen,  and  said  : 
"  Have  you  brought  him  nothing  at  all,  no  hand- 
writings— in  your  bag  ?" 

Then  Helen  sighed  again.  "  I  have  no  hand- 
writing except  Mr.  Penfold's  ;  but  I  have  two 
printed  reports  of  the  trial." 

"Printed  reports,"  said  the  expert,  "they  are 
no  use  to  me.  Ah  !  here  is  an  outline  I  took 
of  the  prisoner  during  the  trial.  You  can  read 
faces :  tell  the  lady  whether  he  was  guilty  or 
not,"  and  he  handed  the  profile  to  his  mother 


Undercliff  took  up  the  prayer-book,  and  asked 
her  with  some  curiosity  what  could  be  in  that. 

"  Oh,"  said  Helen,  "  only  some  writing  of  Mr. 
Penfold.  Mr.  Undercliff  does  not  want  to  see 
that ;  he  is  already  sure  Robert  Penfold  never 
wrote  that  wicked  thing." 

"  Yes,  but  I  should  like  to  see  some  more  of  his 
handwriting,  for  all  that,"  said  the  expert,  look- 
ing suddenly  up. 

"  But  it  is  only  in  pencil." 

"  Never  mind  ;  you  need  not  fear  I  shall  al- 
ter my  opinion." 

Helen  colored  high.  "You  are  right :  and  I 
should  disgrace  my  good  cause  by  withholding 
any  thing  from  your  inspection.  There,  sir." 
And  she  opened  the  prayer-book,  and  laid  Coop- 
er's dying  words  before  the  expert ;  he  glanced 
over  them  with  an  eye  like  a  bird,  and  compared 
them  with  his  notes. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  "that  is  Robert  Penfold's  writ- 


with  an  ironical  look  ;  not  that  he  doubted  her  j  ing ;  and  I  say  again  that  hand  never  wrote  the 
proficiency  in  the  rival  art  of  reading  faces,  but    forged  note." 


that  he  doubted  the  existence  of  the  art. 

Mrs.  Undercliff  took  the  profile,  and,  coloring 
slightly,  said  to  Miss  Rolleston  :  "  It  is  living 
faces  I  profess  to  read :  there  I  can  see  the  move- 
ment of  the  eyes  and  other  things  that  my  son 
here  has  not  studied."  Then  she  scrutinized 
the  profile.  "  It  is  a  very  handsome  face,"  said 
she. 

The  expert  chuckled.  "There's  a  woman's 
judgment,"  said  he.  "Handsome!  the  fellow 
I  got  transported  for  life  down  at  Exeter  was  an 
Adonis,  and  forged  wills,  bonds,  and  powers  of 
attorney  by  the  dozen." 

"There's  something  noble  about  this  face," 
said  Mrs.  Undercliff,  ignoring  the  interruption, 
"  and  yet  something  simple.  I  think  him  more 
likely  to  be  a  cat's-paw  than  a  felon."     Having 


Let  me  see  that,"  said  Mrs.  Undercliff. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Helen,  rather  irresolutely; 
"but  you  look  into  the  things  as  well  as  the 
writing,  and  I  promised  papa — " 

"  Can't  you  trust  me  ?"  said  Mrs.  Undercliff, 
turning  suddenly  cold  and  a  little  suspicious. 

"Oh  yes,  madam  ;  and  indeed  I  have  nothing 
to  reproach  myself  with.  But  my  papa  is  anx- 
ious. However,  I  am  sure  you  are  my  friend  ; 
and  all  I  ask  is  that  you  will  never  mention  to 
a  soul  what  you  read  there." 

"  I  promise  that,"  said  the  elder  lady,  and  in- 
stantly bent  her  black  brows  upon  the  writing. 
And,  as  she  did  so,  Helen  observed  her  counte- 
nance rise,  as  a  face  is  very  apt  to  do  when  its 
owner  enters  on  congenial  work. 

You  would  have  made  a  great  mistake  to 


delivered  this  with  a  certain  modest  dignity,  she  j  keep  this  from  ?«e,"said  she,  gravely.  Then  she 
laid  the  profile  on  the  counter  before  Helen.  j  pondered  profoundly ;  then  she  turned  to  her  son 
The  expert  had  a  wonderful  eye  and  hand  ;  it  j  and  said,  "  Why,  Edward,  this  is  the  very  young 
was  a  good  thing  for  society  he  had  elected  to  be  j  lady  who  was  wrecked  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  and 
gamekeeper  instead  of  poacher,  detector  of  for-  I  cast  on  a  desolate  island.  We  have  all  read 
gery  instead  of  forger.  No  photograph  was  ever  |  about  you  in  the  papers,  miss  ;  and  I  felt  for  you, 
truer  than  this  outline.  Helen  started,  and  bow-  j  for  one,  but,  of  course,  not  as  I  do  now  I  have 
ed  her  head  over  the  sketch  to  conceal  the  strong  seen  you.  You  must  let  me  go  into  this  with 
and  various  emotions  that  swelled  at  sight  of  the  j  you  "" 


portrait  of  her  martyr.  In  vain  ;  if  the  eyes  were 
hidden,  the  tender  bosom  heaved,  the  graceful 
body  quivered,  and  the  tears  fell  fast  upon  the 
counter. 

Mrs.  Undercliff  was  womanly  enough,  though 
she  looked  like  the  late  Lord  Thurlow  in  petti-  ! 
coats ;  and  she  instantly  aided  the  girl  to  hide 
her  beating  heart  from  the  man,  though  that  man 
was  her  son.  She  distracted  his  attention. 
"Give  me  all  your  notes,Ned,"  said  she,  "and 
let  me  see  whether  I  can  make  something  of  them ; 
but  first  perhaps  Miss  Rolleston  will  empty  her 


Ah,  if  you  would !"  said  Helen.  "  Oh,  mad- 
am, I  have  gone  through  tortures  already  for 
want  of  somebody  of  my  own  sex  to  keep  me  in 
countenance  ?  Oh,  if  you  could  have  seen  how 
I  have  been  received,  with  what  cold  looks,  and 
sometimes  with  impertinent  stares,  before  I  could 
even  penetrate  into  the  region  of  those  cold  looks 
and  petty  formalities  !  Any  miserable  straw  was 
excuse  enough  to  stop  me  on  my  errand  of  jus- 
tice and  mercy  and  gratitude." 

"Gratitude?" 

"  Oh  yes,  madam.     The  papers  have  only  told 


bag  on  the  counter.     Go  back  to  your  work  a    you   that   I  was   shipwrecked   and   cast   away, 
moment,  for  I  know  you  have  enough  to  do."       |  They  don't  tell  you  that  Robert  Penfold  warned 


126 


FOUL  PLAY. 


me  the  ship  was  to  be  destroyed,  and  I  disbe- 
lieved and  affronted  him  in  return,  and  he  nev- 
er repi'oachcd  me,  not  even  by  a  look.  And  we 
were  in  a  boat  with  the  sailors  all  starved — not 
hungry  :  starved — and  mad  with  thirst,  and  yet 
in  his  own  agony  he  hid  something  for  me  to 
eat.  All  his  thought,  all  his  fear,  was  for  me. 
Such  things  are  not  done  in  those  great  extremi- 
ties of  the  poor,  vulgar,  suffering  body,  except 
by  angels  in  whom  the  soul  rises  above  the  flesh. 
And  he  is  such  an  angel.  I  have  had  a  knife 
Ufted  over  me  to  kill  me,  madam — yes:  and 
again  it  was  he  who  saved  me.  I  owe  my  life  to 
him  on  the  island  over  and  over  again  ;  and  in 
return  I  have  promised  to  give  him  back  his  hon- 
or, that  he  values  far  more  than  life,  as  all  such 
noble  spirits  do.  Ah,  my  poor  martyr,  how  fee- 
bly I  plead  your  cause  !  Oh,  help  me !  pray, 
pray,  help  me  !  All  is  so  dark,  and  I  so  weak, 
so  weak."  Again  the  loving  eyes  streamed  ;  and 
this  time  not  an  eye  was  dry  in  the  little  shop. 

The  expert  flung  down  his  tracing  with  some- 
thing between  a  groan  and  a  curse.  "  Who  can 
do  that  drudgery,"  he  cried,  "whilst  the  poor 
young  lady —  Mother,  you  take  it  in  hand ;  find 
me  some  material,  though  it  is  no  bigger  than 
a  fly's  foot;  give  me  but  a  clue  no  thicker  than  a 
spider's  web,  and  I'll  follow  it  through  the  whole 
labyrinth.  But  you  see  I'm  impotent ;  there's 
no  basis  for  me.  It  is  a  case  for  you.  It  wants 
a  shrewd,  sagacious  body  that  can  read  facts  and 
faces  ;  and — I  won't  jest  any  more,  Miss  Rolles- 
ton,  for  you  are  deeply  in  earnest.  Well,  then, 
she  really  is  a  woman  with  a  wonderful  insight 
into  facts  and  faces.  She  has  got  a  way  of  read- 
ing them  as  I  read  handwriting  ;  and  she  must 
have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  you,  for  as  a  rule  she 
never  does  us  the  honor  to  meddle." 

"  Have  you  taken  a  fancy  to  me,  madam  ?" 
said  Helen,  modestly  and  tenderlv,  vet  half  arch- 

'•'■That  I  have,"  said  the  other,  "  Those  eyes 
of  yours  went  straight  into  my  heart  last  night, 
or  I  should  not  be  here  this  morning.  That  is 
partly  owing  to  my  own  eyes  being  so  dark,  and 
yours  the  loveliest  hazel.  It  is  twenty  years  since 
eyes  like  yours  have  gazed  into  mine.  Diamonds 
are  not  half  so  rare,  nor  a  tenth  part  so  lovely, 
to  my  fancy."  She  turned  her  head  away,  melt- 
ed probably  by  some  tender  reminiscence.  It 
was  only  for  a  moment.  She  turned  round  again, 
and  said  quietly :  "  Yes,  Ned,  I  should  like  to 
try  what  I  can  do  ;  I  think  you  said  these  are  re- 
ports of  his  trial.     I'll  begin  by  reading  them." 

She  read  them  both  very  slowly  and  carefully, 
and  her  face  grew  like  a  judge's,  and  Helen 
watched  each  shade  of  expression  with  deep  anx- 
iety. 

That  powerful  countenance  showed  alacrity 
and  hope  at  first :  then  doubt  and  difficulty,  and 
at  last  dejection.  Helen's  heart  turned  cold,  and 
for  the  first  time  she  began  to  despair.  For  now 
a  shrewd  person,  with  a  plain  prejudice  in  her 
favor  and  Robert's,  was  staggered  by  the  simple 
facts  of  the  trial. 


CHAPTER  LIX. 

Mrs.  Undercliff,  having  read  the  reports, 
avoided  Helen's  eye  (another  bad  sign).  She 
turned  to  Mr.  Undercliff,  and,  probably  because 


the  perusal  of  the  reports  had  disappointed  her, 
said,  almost  angrily:  "Edward,  what  did  you 
say  to  make  them  laugh  at  that  trial?  Both 
these  papers  say  that  '  an  expert  was  called, 
whose  ingenuity  made  the  court  smile,  but  did 
not  counterbalance  the  evidence.'" 

"Why,  that  is  a  falsehood  on  the  face  of  it," 
said  the  expert,  turning  red.  "  I  was  called  sim- 
ply and  solely  to  prove  Penfold  did  not  write  the 
forged  note  ;  I  proved  it  to  the  judge's  satisfac- 
tion, and  he  directed  the  prisoner  to  be  acquit- 
ted on  that  count.  Miss  Rolleston,  the  lawyers 
often  do  sneer  at  experts ;  but  then  four  experts 
out  of  five  are  rank  impostors,  a  set  of  theorists, 
who  go  by  arbitrary  rules  framed  in  the  closet, 
and  not  by  large  and  laborious  comparison  with 
indisputable  documents.  These  charlatans  are 
not  aware  that  five  thousand  cramped  and  trem- 
ulous, but  genuine,  signatures  are  written  every 
day  by  honest  men,  and  so  they  denounce  every 
cramped  or  tremulous  writing  as  a  forgery.  The 
varieties  in  a  man's  writing,  caused  by  his  writ- 
ing with  his  glove  on  or  off,  with  a  quill  or  a  bad 
steel  pen,  drunk  or  sober,  calm  or  agitated,  in 
full  daylight  or  dusk,  etc.,  etc.,  all  this  is  a  dead 
letter  to  them,  and  they  have  a  bias  towards  sus- 
picion of  forgery  ;  and  a  banker's  clerk,  with  his 
mere  general  impression,  is  better  evidence  than 
they  are.  But  I  am  an  artist  of  a  very  different 
stamp.  I  never  reason  a  priori.  I  compare  ; 
and  I  have  no  bias.  I  never  will  have.  The 
judges  know  this,  and  the  pains  and  labor  I  take 
to  be  right,  and  they  treat  me  with  courtesy.  At 
Penfold's  trial  the  matter  was  easy ;  I  showed 
the  court  he  had  not  written  the  note,  and  my 
evidence  crushed  the  indictment  so  far.  How 
could  they  have  laughed  at  my  testimony  ?  Why, 
they  acted  upon  it.  Those  reports  are  not  worth 
a  straw.     What  journals  were  they  cut  out  of?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Helen. 

"Is  there  nothing  on  the  upper  margin  to 
show?" 

"No." 

"  What,  not  on  either  of  them  ?" 

"No." 

"  Show  them  me,  please.  This  is  a  respect- 
able paper  too  ;  the  Daily  News." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Undercliff,  how  can  you  know 
that?" 

"I  don't  knoio  it;  but  I  think  so,  because 
the  type  and  paper  are  like  that  journal ;  the  con- 
ductors are  fond  of  clean  type ;  so  am  I.  Why, 
here  is  another  misstatement ;  the  judge  never 
said  he  aggravated  his  offense  by  trying  to  cast  a 
slur  upon  the  Wardlaws.  I'll  swear  the  judge 
never  said  a  syllable  of  the  kind.  What  he  said 
was,  'You  can  speak  in  arrest  of  judgment  on 
grounds  of  law,  but  you  must  not  impugn  the 
verdict  with  facts.'  That  was  the  only  time  he 
spoke  to  the  prisoner  at  all.  These  reports  are 
not  worth  a  button." 

Helen  lifted  up  her  hands  and  eyes  in  despair. 
"Where  shall  I  find  the  truth?"  said  she. 
"The  world  is  a  quicksand." 

"  My  dear  young  lady,"  said  Mrs.  Undercliff, 
"don't  you  be  discouraged:  there  must  be  a 
correct  report  in  some  paper  or  other." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Undercliff. 
"  I  believe  the  reporters  trundle  off  to  the  near- 
est public-house  together,  and  light  their  pipes 
with  their  notes,  and  settle  something  or  other 
!  by  memory.     Indeed  they  have  reached  a  pitch 


FOUL  PLAY. 


127 


of  inaccuracy  that  could  riot  be  attained  without 
co-operation.  Independent  liars  contradict  each 
other :  but  these  chaps  follow  one  another  in 
falsehood,  like  geese  toddling  after  one  another 
across  a  common. " 

"Come,  come,"  said  Mrs.  Undercliff,  "if  you 
can't  help  us,  don't  hurt  us.  We  don't  want 
a  man  to  talk  yellow  jaundice  to  us.  Miss  Rol- 
lcston  must  employ  somebody  to  read  all  the 
other  papers,  and  compare  the  reports  with  these." 

"  I'll  employ  nobody  but  myself,"  said  Helen. 
"I'll  go  to  the  British  Museum  directly." 

"The  Museum!"  cried  Mr.  Undercliff,  look- 
ing with  surprise.  "Why,  they  will  be  half  an 
hour  groping  for  a  copy  of  the  Times.  No,  no  ; 
go  to  Peele's  Coffee-house."  He  directed  her 
where  to  find  that  place ;  and  she  was  so  eager 
to  do  something  for  Robert,  however  small,  that 
she  took  up  her  bag  directly,  and  put  up  the 
prayer-book,  and  was  going  to  ask  for  her  ex- 
tracts, when  she  observed  Mr.  Undercliff  was 
scrutinizing  them  with  great  interest,  so  she 
thought  she  would  leave  them  with  him  ;  but,  on 
looking  more  closely,  she  found  that  he  was  ex- 
amining, not  the  reports,  but  the  advertisements 
and  miscellanea  on  the  reverse  side. 

She  waited  out  of  politeness,  but  she  colored 
and  bit  her  lip.  She  could  not  help  feeling  hurt 
and  indignant.  "  Any  trash  is  more  interesting 
to  people  than  poor  Robert's  case,"  she  thought. 
And  at  last  she  said  bitterly  : — 

"Those  advertisements  seem  to  interest  you, 
sir;  shall  I  leave  them  with  you  ?" 

"If  you  please,"  said  the  expert,  over  whose 
head,  bent  in  dogged  scrutiny,  this  small  thun- 
derbolt of  feminine  wrath  passed  unconscious. 

Helen  drove  away  to  Peele's  Coffee-house. 

Mrs.  Undercliff  pondered  over  the  facts  that 
had  been-  elicited  in  this  conversation  ;  the  ex- 
pert remained  absorbed  in  the  advertisements  at 
the  back  of  Helen's  reports. 

When  he  had  examined  everyone  of  them  mi- 
nutely, he  held  the  entire  extracts  up  to  the  light, 
and  looked  through  them ;  then  he  stuck  a  dou- 
ble magnifier  in  his  eye,  and  looked  through  them 
with  that.  Then  he  took  two  pieces  of  card, 
wrote  on  them  Re  Penfold,  and  looked  about  for 
his  other  materials,  to  put  them  all  neatly  togeth- 
er.   Lo  !  the  profile  of  Robert  Penfold  was  gone. 

"Now  that  is  too  bad,  said  he.  "So  much 
for  her  dovelike  eyes,  that  you  admired  so.  Miss 
Innocence  has  stolen  that  profile." 

"Stolen!  she  bought  it — of  me." 

"  Why,  she  never  said  a  word." 

"No  ;  but  she  looked  a  look.  She  asked  me, 
with  those  sweet  imploring  eyes,  might  she  have 
it ;  and  I  looked  yes  :  then  she  glanced  towards 
you,  and  put  down  a  note.     Here  it  is." 

"Why,  you  beat  the  telegraph,  you  two !  Ten 
pounds  for  that  thing  !  I  must  niake  it  up  to  her 
somehow." 

"I  wish  you  could.  Poor  girl,  she  is  a  lady 
every  inch.  But  she  is  in  love  with  that  Pen- 
fold.     I'm  afraid  it  is  a  hopeless  case." 

"I  have  seen  a  plainer.  But  hopeless  it  is 
not.  However,  you  work  your  way,  and  I'll 
work  mine." 

"But  you  can't ;  you  have  no  materials." 

"  No ;  but  I  have  found  a  door  that  may  lead 
to  materials." 

Having  delivered  himself  thus  mysteriously, 
he  shut  himself  up  in  obstinate  silence  until 


Helen  Rolleston  called  again,  two  days  after- 
wards.    She  brought  a  bag  full  of  manuscript 
this  time  :  to  wit,  copies  in  her  own  handwriting 
of  eight  reports,  the  Queen  v.  Penfold.     She  was 
!  in  good  spirits,  and  told  Mrs.  Undercliff  that  all 
the  reports  were  somewhat  more  favorable  than 
:  the  two  she  had  left ;  and  she  was  beginning  to 
j  tell  Mr.  Undercliff  he  was  quite  right  in  his  rec- 
ollection, when  he  interrupted  her,  and  said,  "All 
that  is  secondary  now.     Have  you  any  objec- 
tion to  answer  me  a  question  ?" 

She  colored ;  but  said,  "  Oh  no.  Ask  me 
any  thing  you  like  ;"  then  she  blushed  deeper. 

"  How  did  you  become  possessed  of  those  two 
reports  you  left  with  me  the  other  day  ?" 

At  this  question,  so  different  from  what  she 
feared,  Helen  cleared  up  and  smiled,  and  said, 
"From  a  Mr.  Hand,  a  clerk  in  Mr.  Wardlaw's 
office  ;  they  were  sent  me  at  my  request." 

The  expert  seemed  pleased  at  this  reply ;  his 
brow  cleared,  and  he  said  :  "Then  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  those  two  reports  will  bring  Pen- 
fold's  case  within  my  province.  To  speak  plainly, 
Miss  Rolleston,  your  newspaper  extracts — ars 

FORGERIES." 


CHAPTER  LX. 

"Forgeries!"  cried  Helen,  with  innocent 
horror. 

"Rank  forgeries,"  repeated  the  expert, 
coolly. 

' '  Forgeries  !"  cried  Helen.  "  Why,  how  can 
printed  things  be  that  ?" 

"That  is  what  I  should  like  to  know,"  said 
the  old  lady. 

"Why,  what  else  can  you  call  them?"  said 
the  expert.  "They  are  got  up  to  look  like  ex- 
tracts from  newspapers.  But  they  were  printed 
as  they  are,  and  were  never  in  any  journal. 
Shall  I  tell  you  how  I  found  that  out*?" 

"If  you  please,  sir,"  said  Helen. 

"Well,  then,  I  looked  at  the  reverse  side, 
and  I  found  seven  misprints  in  one  slip,  and 
five  in  the  other.  That  was  a  great  number  to 
creep  into  printed  slips  of  that  length.  The 
trial  part  did  not  show  a  single  erratum. 
'Hullo!'  said  I  to  myself;  'why,  one  side  is 
printed  more  carefully  than  the' other.'  And 
that  was  not  natural.  The  printing  of  adver- 
tisements is  looked  after  quite  as  sharply  as  any 
other  part  in  a  journal.  Why,  the  advertisers 
themselves  cry  out  if  they  are  misprinted !  " 

"Oh,  how  shrewd  !"  cried  Helen. 

"Child's  play,"  said  the  expert.  "Well, 
from  that  blot  I  went  on.  I  looked  at  the 
edges,  and  they  were  cut  too  clean.  A  gentle- 
man with  a  pair  of  scissors  can't  cut  slips  out  of 
a  paper  like  this.  They  were  cut  in  the  printer's 
office.  Lastly,  on  holding  them  to  the  light,  I 
found  they  had  not  been  machined  upon  the 
plan  now  adopted  by  all  newspapers  ;  but  work- 
ed by  hand.     In  one  word — forgeries!" 

"Oh,"  said  Helen,  "to  think  I  should  have 
handled  forgeries,  and  shown  them  to  you  for 
real.  Ah  !  I'm  so  glad ;  for  now  I  have  com- 
mitted the  same  crime  as  Robert  Penfold ;  I 
have  uttered  a  forged  document.  Take  me  up, 
and  have  me  put  in  prison,  for  I  am  as  guilty  aa 
ever  he  was."  Her  face  shone  with  rapture  al 
sharing  Robert's  guilt. 


128 


FOUL  PLAY. 


The  expert  was  a  little  puzzled  by  sentiments 
so  high-flown  and  unpractical. 

"I  think,"  said  he,  "you  are  hardly  aware 
what  a  valuable  discovery  this  may  prove  to  you. 
However,  the  next  step  is  to  get  me  a  specimen 
of  the  person's  handwriting  who  furnished  you 
with  these.  The  chances  are  he  is  the  writer  of 
the  forged  note." 

Helen  uttered  an  exclamation  that  was  almost 
a  scream.  The  inference  took  her  quite  by  sur- 
prise.    She  looked  at  Mrs.  Undercliff. 

"  He  is  right,  I  think,"  said  the  old  lady. 

"Right  or  wrong,"  said  the  expert,  "the 
next  step  in  the  inquiry  is  to  do  what  I  said. 
But  that  demands  great  caution.  You  must 
write  a  short  civil  note  to  Mr.  Hand,  and  just 
ask  him  some  question.  Let  me  see :  ask  him 
what  newspapers  his  extracts  are  from,  and 
whether  he  has  got  any  more.  He  will  not  tell 
you  the  truth ;  but  no  matter,  we  shall  get  hold 
of  his  handwriting." 

"But,  sir,"  said  Helen,  "  there  is  no  need  for 
that.  Mr.  Hand  sent  me  a  note  along  with  the 
extracts." 

"The  deuce  he  did.  All  the  better.  Any 
words  in  it  that  are  in  the  forged  note  ?  Is  Pen- 
fold  in  it,  or  Wardlaw  ?" 

Helen  reflected  a  moment,  and  then  said  she 
thought  both  those  names  were  in  it. 

"  Fetch  me  that  note,"  said  Undercliff,  and 
his  eyes  sparkled.  He  was  on  a  hot  scent 
now. 

"  And  let  me  study  the  genuine  reports,  and 
compare  what  they  say  with  the  forged  ones," 
said  Mrs.  Undercliff. 

"Oh,  what  friends  I  have  found  at  last!" 
cried  Helen. 

She  thanked  them  both  warmly,  and  hurried 
home,  for  it  was  getting  late. 

Next  day  she  brought  Hand's  letter  to  Mr. 
Undercliff,  and  devoured  his  countenance  while 
he  inspected  it  keenly,  and  compared  it  with  the 
forged  note. 

The  comparison  was  long  and  careful,  but  un- 
satisfactory. Mr.  Undercliff  could  not  conscien- 
tiously say  whether  Hand  had  written  the  forged 
note  or  not.     There  were  pros  and  cons. 

"We  are  in  deeper  water  than  I  thought," 
said  he.  "The  comparison  must  be  enlarged. 
You  must  write  as  I  suggested,  and  get  another 
note  out  of  Mr.  Hand." 

"  And  leave  the  prayer-book  with  me, "  said 
Mrs.  Undercliff. 

Helen  complied  with  these  instructions,  and 
in  due  course  received  a  civil  line  from  Mr. 
Hand,  to  say  that  the  extracts  had  been  sent 
him  from  the  country  by  one  of  his  fellow-clerks, 
and  he  had  locked  them  up,  lest  Mr.  Michael 
Penfold,  who  was  much  respected  in  the  office, 
should  see  them.  He  could  not  say  where  they 
came  from  ;  perhaps  from  some  provincial  paper. 
If  of  any  value  to  Miss  Rolleston,  she  was  quite 
at  liberty  to  keep  them.  He  added  there  was  a 
coffee-house  in  the  city  where  she  could  read  all 
the  London  papers  of  that  date.  This  letter, 
which  contained  a  great  many  more  words  than 
the  other,  was  submitted  to  Undercliff.  It  puz- 
zled him  so  that  he  set  to  work,  and  dissected 
every  curve  the  writer's  pen  had  made ;  but  he 
could  come  to  no  positive  conclusion,  and  he  re- 
fused to  utter  his  conjectures. 

"We  are  in  a  deep  water,"  said  he. 


Finally,  he  told  his  mother  he  was  at  a  stand- 
still for  the  present. 

"  But  I  am  not,"  said  Mrs.  Undercliff.  She 
added,  after  a  while,  "I  think  there's  felony  at 
the  bottom  of  this." 

"Smells  like  it  to  me," said  the  expert. 

' '  Then  I  want  you  to  do  something  very  clever 
for  me." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  want  you  to  forge  something." 

"  Come  !  I  say." 

"  Quite  innocent,  I  assure  you." 

"Well,  but  it  is  a  bad  habit  to  commence." 

"  All  depends  on  the  object.  This  is  to  take 
in  a  forger,  that  is  all. " 

The  expert's  eyes  sparkled.  He  had  always 
been  sadly  discontented  with  the  efforts  of 
forgers,  and  thought  he  could  do  better. 

"I'll  do  it," said  he,  gay ly. 


CHAPTER  LXI. 

General  Rolleston  and  his  daughter  sat  at 
breakfast  in  the  hotel.  General  Rolleston  was 
reading  the  Times,  and  his  eye  lighted  on  some- 
thing that  made  him  start.  He  looked  towards 
Helen,  and  his  first  impulse  was  to  communicate 
it  to  her  :  but,  on  second  thoughts,  he  preferred 
to  put  a  question  to  her  first. 

"You  have  never  told  the  Wardlaws  what 
those  sailors  said  ?" 

"  No,  papa.  I  still  think  they  ought  to  have 
been  told  ;  but  vou  know  you  positively  forbade 
me." 

"Of  course  I  did.  Why  afflict  the  old  gen- 
tleman with  such  a  tale  ?  A  couple  of  common 
sailors!  who  chose  to  fancy  the  ship  was  de- 
stroyed." 

"Who  are  better  judges  of  such  a  thing  than 
sailors  ?" 

"  Well,  my  child,  if  you  think  so,  I  can't  help 
it.  All  I  say  is,  spare  the  old  gentleman  such  a 
report.  As  for  Arthur,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
have  mentioned  the  matter  to  him." 

"  Oh  papa !  Then  why  forbid  me  to  tell  him  ? 
What  did  he  say  ?" 

"He  was  very  much  distressed.  'Destroy 
the  ship  my  Helen  was  in,'  said  he  :  *  if  I  thought 
Wylie  had  done  that,  I'd  kill  him  with  my  own 
hand,  though  I  was  hanged  for  it  next  minute.' 
I  never  saw  the  young  fellow  fire  up  so  before. 
But  when  he  came  to  think  calmly  over  it  a  lit- 
tle while,  he  said:  'I  hope  this  slander  will 
never  reach  my  father's  ears ;  it  would  grieve 
him  deeply.     I  only  laugh  at  it.'  " 

"  Laugh  at  it !  and  yet  talk  of  killing?" 

"Oh,  people  say  they  laugh  at  a  thing  when 
they  are  very  angry  all  the  time.  However,  as 
you  are  a  good  girl,  and  mind  what  you  are  told, 
I'll  read  you  an  advertisement  that  will  make 
you  stare.*  Here  is  Joseph  Wylie,  who,  you  say, 
wrecked  the  Proserpine,  actually  invited  by  Mi- 
chael Penfold  to  call  on  him,  and  hear  of  some- 
thing to  his  advantage." 

"Dear  me!"  said  Helen,  "how  strange! 
Surely  Mr.  Penfold  can  not  know  the  character 
of  that  man.  Stop  a  minute!  Advertise  for 
him?  Then  nobody  knows  where  he  lives? 
There,  papa :  you  see  he  is  afraid  to  go  near 
Arthur  Wardlaw;  he  knows  he  destroyed  the 


FOUL  PLAY. 


129 


ship.  What  a  mystery  it  all  is  !  And  so  Mr. 
Penfold  is  at  home,  after  all :  and  not  to  send 
me  a  single  line.  I  never  met  with  so  much 
unkindness  and  diseourtesy  in  all  my  life." 

"Ah,  my  dear,"  said  the  General,  "you  nev- 
er defied  the  world  before  as  you  are  doing  now." 

Helen  sighed  ;  but,  presently  recovering  her 
spirit,  said  she  had  done  without  the  world  on 
her  dear  island,  and  she  would  not  be  its  slave 
now. 

As  she  was  always  as  good  as  her  word,  she 
declined  an  invitation  to  play  the  lion,  and, 
dressing  herself  in  plain  merino,  went  down  that 
very  evening  to  Michael  Penfold's  cottage. 

We  run  thither  a  little  before  her,  to  relate 
briefly  what  had  taken  place  there. 

Nancy  Rouse,  as  may  well  be  imagined,  was 
not  the  woman  to  burn  two  thousand  pounds. 
She  locked  the  notes  up ;  and  after  that  night 
became  very  reserved  on  that  head,  so  much  so 
that,  at  last,  Mr.  Penfold  saw  it  was  an  inter- 
dicted topic,  and  dropped  it  in  much  wonder. 

When  Nancy  came  to  think  of  it  in  daylight, 
she  could  not  help  suspecting  Wylie  had  some 
hand  in  it ;  and  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  old  gen- 
leman  who  lodged  next  door  might  be  an  agent 
of  Wylie's,  and  a  spy  on  her.  Wylie  must  have 
told  him  to  push  the  £2000  into  her  room ;  but 
what  a  strange  thing  to  do !  To  be  sure,  he 
was  a  sailor,  and  sailors  had  been  known  to 
make  sandwiches  of  bank-notes  and  eat  them. 
Still,  her  good  sense  revolted  against  this  theo- 
ry, and  she  was  sore  puzzled ;  for,  after  all, 
there  was  the  money,  and  she  had  seen  it  come 
through  the  wall.  One  thing  appeared  certain, 
Joe  had  not  forgotten  her  ;  he  was  thinking  of 
her  as  much  as  ever,  or  more  than  ever  ;  so  her 
spirits  rose,  she  began  snging  and  whistling 
again,  and  waited  cunningly  till  Joe  should  re- 
appear and  explain  his  conduct.  Hostage  for 
his  re-appearance  she  held  the  £2000.  She  felt 
so  strong  and  saucy  she  was  half  sorry  she  had 
allowed  Mr.  Penfold  to  advertise  ;  but,  after  all, 
it  did  not  much  matter ;  she  could  always  de- 
clare to  Joe  she  had  never  missed  him  for  her 
part,  and  the  advertising  was  a  folly  of  poor  Mr. 
Penfold's. 

Matters  were  in  this  condition  when  the  little 
servant  came  up  one  evening  to  Mr.  Penfold 
and  said  there  was  a  young  lady  to  see  him. 

"  A  young  lady  for  me  f  said  he. 

"  Which  she  won't  eat  you,  while  I  am  by," 
said  the  sharp  little  girl.  "It  is  a  lady,  and 
the  same  what  come  before." 

"  Perhaps  she  will  oblige  me  with  her  name," 
said  Michael,  timidly. 

"  I  won't  show  her  up  till  she  do,"  said  this 
mite  of  a  servant,  who  had  been  scolded  by  Nan- 
cy for  not  extracting  that  information  on  Helen's 
last  visit. 

"Of  course,  I  must  receive  her,"  said  Mi- 
chael, half  consulting  the  mite  ;  it  belonged  to  a 
sex  which  promptly  assumes  the  control  of  such 
gentle  creatures  as  he  was. 

"  Is  Miss  Rouse  in  the  way  ?"  said  he. 

The  mite  laughed,  and  said  : 

"  She  is  only  gone  down  the  street.  I'll  send 
her  in  to  take  care  on  you." 

With  this  she  went  off,  and  in  due  course  led 
Helen  up  the  stairs.  She  ran  in,  and  whispered 
in  Michael's  ears — 

"  It  is  Miss  Helen  Rolleston." 
9 


Thus  they  announced  a  lady  at  No.  3. 

Michael  stared  with  wonder  at  so  great  a  per- 
sonage visiting  him ;  and  the  next  moment 
Helen  glided  into  the  room,  blushing  a  little,  and 
even  panting  inaudibly,  but  all  on  her  guard. 
She  saw  before  her  a  rather  stately  figure,  and 
a  face  truly  venerable,  benignant,  and  beautiful, 
though  deficient  in  strength.  She  cast  a  de- 
vouring glance  on  him  as  she  courtesied  to  him ; 
and  it  instantly  flashed  across  her,  "  But  for  you 
there  would  be  no  Robert  Penfold."  There  was 
an  unconscious  tenderness  in  her  voice  as  she 
spoke  to  him,  for  she  had  to  open  the  interview. 

"Mr.  Penfold,  I  fear  my  visit  may  surprise 
you,  its  you  did  not  write  to  me.  But,  when  you 
hear  what  I  am  come  about,  I  think  you  will 
not  be  displeased  with  me  for  coming." 

"  Displeased,  madam !  I  am  highly  honored 
by  your  visit — a  lady  who,  I  understand,  is  to  be 
married  to  my  worthy  employer,  Mr.  Arthur. 
Prav  be  seated,  madam." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

Helen  began  in  a  low,  thrilling  voice,  to  which, 
however,  she  gave  firmness  by  a  resolute  effort 
of  her  will. 

"  I  am  come  to  speak  to  you  of  one  who  is 
very  dear  to  you,  and  to  all  who  really  know 
him." 

"  Dear  to  me  ?  It  is  my  son.  The  rest  are 
gone.     It  is  Robert." 

And  he  began  to  tremble. 

"Yes,  it  is  Robert,"  said  she,  very  softly; 
then  turning  her  eyes  away  from  him,  lest  his 
emotion  should  overcome  her,  she  said — 

"  He  has  laid  me  and  my  father  under  deep 
obligations." 

She  dragged  her  father  in ;  for  it  was  essen- 
tial not  to  show  Mr.  Penfold  she  was  in  love  with 
Robert. 

"Obligations  to  my  Robert?  Ah,  madam, 
it  is  very  kind  of  you  to  say  that,  and  cheer  a 
desolate  father's  heart  with  praise  of  his  lost  son  ! 
But  how  could  a  poor  unfortunate  man  in  his 
position  serve  a  lady  like  you  ?" 

"  Hedefended  me  against  robbers  single-hand- 
ed." 

"Ah,"  said  the  old  man,  glowing  with  pride, 
and  looking  more  beautiful  than  ever,  "  he  was 
always  as  brave  as  a  lion." 

"That  is  nothing;  he  saved  my  life  again, 
and  again,  and  again." 

"  God  bless  him  for  it !  and  God  bless  you 
for  coming  and  telling  me  of  it !  Oh,  madam, 
he  was  always  brave,  and  gentle,  and  just,  and 
good;  so  noble,  so  unfortunate." 

And  the  old  man  began  to  cry. 

Helen's  bosom  heaved,  and  it  cost  her  a  bit- 
ter struggle  not  to  throw  her  arms  around  the 
dear  old  man's  neck  and  cry  with  him.  For  she 
came  prepared  for  a  sore  trial  of  her  feelings, 
and  she  clenched  her  hands  and  teeth,  and  would 
not  give  way  an  inch. 

"Tell  me  how  he  saved  your  life,  madam." 

"  He  was  in  the  ship,  and  in  the  boat, with  me." 

"  Ah,  madam,"  said  Michael,  "  that  must  have 

been  some  other  Robert  Penfold ;  not  my  son. 

He  could  not  come  home.     His  time  was  not  up, 

you  know." 

"  It  was  Robert  Penfold,  son  of  Michael  Pen- 
fold." 


130 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"Excuse  me  a  moment,"  said  Michael;  and 
he  went  to  a  drawer,  and  brought  her  a  photo- 
graph of  Robert.  "  Was  it  this  Robert  Pen- 
fold  ?" 

The  girl  took  the  photograph,  and  eyed  it, 
and  lowered  her  head  over  it. 

"Yes,"  she  murmured. 

"  And  he  was  coming  home  in  the  ship  with 
you.  Is  he  mad  ?  More  trouble  !  more  trou- 
ble r 

" Do  not  alarm  yourself,"  said  Helen  ;  "he 
will  not  land  in  England  for  years  " — here  she 
stifled  a  sob — "and  long  ere  that  we  shall  have 
restored  him  to  society." 

Michael  stared  at  that,  and  shook  his  head. 

"Never,"  said  he;  "that  is  impossible." 

"Why  impossible?" 

"  They  all  say  he  is  a  felon." 

"  They  all  shall  say  that  he  is  a  martyr." 

"  And  so  he  is ;  but  how  can  that  ever  be 
proved  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  I  am  sure  the  truth  can 
always  be  proved,  if  people  have  patience  and 
perseverance. " 

"My  sweet  young  lady,"  said  Michael,  sadly, 
"you  don't  know  the  world." 

"I  am  learning  it  fast,  though.  It  may  take 
me  a  few  years,  perhaps,  to  make  powerful 
friends,  to  grope  my  way  amongst  forgers,  and 
spies,  and  wicked,  dishonest  people  of  all  sorts, 
but  so  surely  as  you  sit  there  I'll  clear  Robert 
Pen  fold  before  I  die." 

The  good  feeble  old  man  gazed  on  her  with 
admiration  and  astonishment. 

She  subdued  her  flashing  eye,  and  said  with  a 
smile :  ' '  And  you  shall  help  me.  Mr.  Penfold, 
let  me  ask  you  a  question.  I  called  here  before ; 
but  you  were  gone  to  Edinburgh.  Then  I  wrote 
to  you  at  the  office,  begging  you  to  let  me  know 
the  moment  you  returned.  Now,  do  not  think  I 
am  angry ;  but  pray  tell  me  why  you  would  not 
answer  my  letter." 

Michael  Penfold  was  not  burdened  with  amour 
propre,  but  who  has  not  got  a  little  of  it  in  some 
corner  of  his  heart  ?  "  Miss  Rolleston,"  said  he, 
"  I  was  born  a  gentleman,  and  was  a  man  of 
fortune  once,  till  false  friends  ruined  me.  I  am 
in  business  now,  but  still  a  gentleman  ;  and  nei- 
ther as  a  gentleman  nor  as  a  man  of  business 
could  I  leave  a  lady's  letter  unanswered.  I  never 
did  such  a  thing  in  all  my  life.  I  never  got 
your  letter,"  he  said,  quite  put  out;  and  his  | 
wrath  was  so  like  a  dove's  that  Helen  smiled  ' 
and  said,  "But  I  posted  it  myself.  And  my 
address  was  in  it;  yet  it  was  not  returned." 

"Well  madam,  it  was  not  delivered,  I  assure 
you." 

"It  was  intercepted,  then." 

He  looked  at  her.  She  blushed,  and  said: 
"Yes,  I  am  getting  suspicious,  ever  since  I  found  j 
I  was  followed  and  watched.  Excuse  me  a  mo-  ; 
ment."  She  went  to  the  window  and  peered  | 
through  the  curtains.  She  saw  a  man  walking  \ 
slowly  by ;  he  quickened  his  pace  the  moment 
she  opened  the  curtain. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  "it  was  intercepted,  and  I 
am  watched  wherever  I  go." 

Before  she  could  say  any  more  a  bustle  was 
heard  on  the  stairs,  and  in  bounced  Nancy  Rouse, 
talking  as  she  came.  "  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Pen- 
folds,  but  I  can't  wait  no  longer  with  my  heart 
a  bursting;  it  is!  it  is!    Oh,  my  dear,  sweet 


young  lady ;  the  Lord  be  praised !  You  really 
are  here  alive  and  well.  Kiss  you  I  must  and 
shall ;  come  back  from  the  dead  ;  there — there 
— there !" 

"Nancy !  my  good,  kind  Nancy,"  cried  Helen, 
and  returned  her  embrace  warmly. 

Then  followed  a  burst  of  broken  explanations ; 
and  at  last  Helen  made  out  that  Nancy  was  the 
landlady,  and  had  left  Lambeth  long  ago. 

"But,  dear  heart!  said  she,  "Mr.  Penfolds, 
I'm  properly  jealous  of  you.  To  think  of  her 
coming  here  to  see  you,  and  not  me  !" 

"But  I  didn't  know  you  were  here,  Nancy." 
Then  followed  a  stream  of  inquiries,  and  such 
warm-hearted  sympathy  with  all  her  dangers  and 
troubles,  that  Helen  was  led  into  revealing  the 
cause  of  it  all. 

"Nancy,"  said  she,  solemnly,  "the  ship  was 
willfully  cast  away  ;  there  was  a  villain  on  board 
that  made  holes  in  her  on  purpose,  and  sunk  her." 

Nancy  lifted  up  her  hands  in  astonishment. 
But  Mr.  Penfold  was  far  more  surprised  and 
agitated. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  don't  say  that!"  he 
cried. 

"Why  not,  sir?"  said  Helen;  "it  is  the 
truth  ;  and  I  have  got  the  testimony  of  dying 
men  to  prove  it." 

"I  am  sorry  for  it.  Pray  don't  let  any  body 
know.  Whv,  Wardlaws  would  lose  the  insurance 
of  £150,000." 

"  Arthur  Wardlaw  knows  it :  my  father  told 
him." 

"And  he  never  told  me,  "  said  Penfold,  with 
growing  surprise. 

"Goodness  me!  what  a  world  it  is!"  cried 
Nancy.  "Why,  that  was  murder,  and  no  less. 
It  is  a  wonder  she  wasn't  drownded,  and  an- 
other friend  into  the  bargain  that  I  had  in  that 
very  ship.  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  the  villain  here 
that  done  it,  I'd  tear  his  eyes  out !" 

Here  the  mite  of  a  servant  bounded  in,  radiant 
and  giggling,  gave  Nancy  a  triumphant  glance, 
and  popped  out  again,  holding  the  door  open, 
through  which  in  slouched  aseafaring  man,  drawn 
by  Penfold's  advertisement,  and  decoyed  into 
Nancy's  presence  by  the  imp  of  a  girl,  who 
thought  to  please  her  mistress. 

Nancy,  who  for  some  days  had  secretly  ex- 
pected this  visit,  merely  gave  a  little  squeak ; 
but  Helen  uttered  a  violent  scream  ;  and,  upon 
that,  Wylie  recognized  her,  and  literally  stag- 
gered back  a  step  or  two,  and  these  words  fell 
out  of  his  mouth  : — 

"  The  sick  girl !" 

Helen  caught  them. 

"Ay!"  cried  she;  "but  she  is  alive  in  spite 
of  you :  alive  to  denounce  you  and  to  punish 
you." 

She  darted  forward,  and  her  eyes  flashed  light- 
ning. 

"  Look  at  this  man,  all  of  you,"  she  cried. 
"  Look  at  him  well :  this  is  the  wretch  that 

SCUTTLED  THE  PROSERPINE  !" 


CHAPTER  LXII. 

"Oh,  Miss  Helen,  how  can  you  say  that?" 
cried  Nancy,  in  utter  dismay.  "  I'll  lay  my  life 
poor  Joe  never  did  no  such  wickedness." 


FOUL  PLAY. 


131 


But  Helen  waved  her  off  without  looking  at 
her,  and  pointed  at  Wylie. 

"  Are  you  blind  ?  Why  does  he  cringe  and 
cower  at  sight  of  me  ?  I  tell  you  he  scuttled  the 
Proserpine,  and  the  great  auger  he  did  it  with  I 
have  seen  and  handled.  Yes,  sir,  you  destroyed 
a  ship,  and  the  lives  of  many  innocent  persons, 
whose  blood  now  cries  to  Heaven  against  you ; 
and  if  /  am  alive  to  tell  the  cruel  tale,  it  is  no 
thanks  to  you  ;  for  you  did  your  best  to  kill  me, 
and,  what  is  worse,  to  kill  Robert  Penfold,  this 
gentleman's  son  ;  for  he  was  on  board  the  ship. 
You  are  no  better  than  an  assassin." 

"Iain  a  man  that's  down,"  said  Wylie,  in  a 
low  and  broken  voice,  hanging  his  head.  "Don't 
hit  me  any  more.  I  didn't  mean  to  take  any 
body's  life  :  I  took  my  chance  with  the  rest, 
lady,  as  I'm  a  man.  I  have  lain  in  my  bed 
many's  the  night,  crying  like  a  child,  with  think- 
ing you  were  dead.  And  now  I  am  glad  you 
are  alive  to  be  revenged  on  me.  Well,  you  see, 
it  is  your  turn  now ;  you  have  lost  me  my  sweet- 
heart, there ;  she'll  never  speak  to  me  again, 
after  this.  Ah,  the  poor  man  gets  all  the  blame  ! 
You  don't  ask  who  tempted  me ;  and,  if  I  was 
to  tell  you,  you'd  hate  me  worse  than  ever ;  so 
I'll  belay.  If  I'm  a  sinner,  I'm  a  sufferer.  Eng- 
land's too  hot  to  hold  me.  I've  only  to  go  to 
sea,  and  get  drowned  the  quickest  way."  And 
with  this  he  vented  a  deep  sigh,  and  slouched 
out  of  the  room. 

Nancy  sank  into  a  seat,  and  threw  her  apron 
over  her  head,  and  rocked  and  sobbed  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

As  for  Helen  Rolleston,  she  still  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  burning  with  excitement. 

Then  poor  old  Michael  came  to  her,  and  said, 
almost  in  a  whisper, — 

"It  is  a  bad  business;  he  is  her  sweetheart, 
and  she  had  the  highest  opinion  of  him." 

This  softened  Helen  in  a  great  measure.  -  She 
turned  and  looked  at  Nancy,  and  said, — 

"  Oh  dear,  what  a  miserable  thing  !  But  I 
couldn't  know  that." 

After  a  while,  she  drew  a  chair,  and  sat  down 
by  Nancy,  and  said, 

"I  won't  punish  him,  Nancy." 

Nancy  burst  out  sobbing  afresh. 

"  You  have  punished  him,"  said  she,  brusquely, 
"  and  me  too,  as  never  did  you  no  harm.  You 
have  driven  him  out  of  the  country,  you  have. 

At  this  piece  of  feminine  justice  Helen's  anger 
revived.  "So,  then,"  said  she,  "ships  are  to 
be  destroyed,  and  ladies  and  gentlemen  murder- 
ed, and  nobody  is  to  complain,  or  say  an  angry 
word,  if  the  wretch  happens  to  be  paying  his  ad- 
dresses to  you.  That  makes  up  for  all  the  crimes 
in  the  world.  What !  can  an  honest  woman 
like  you  lose  all  sense  of  right  and  wrong  for  a 
man  ?     And  such  a  man !" 

"  Why,  he  is  as  well-made  a  fellow  as  ever  I 
saw,"  sobbed  Nancy. 

"Oh,  is  he?"  said  Helen,  ironically, — her 
views  of  manly  beauty  were  different,  and  black 
eyes  a  sine  qua  non  with  her,  — "  then  it  is  a  pity 
his  soul  is  not  made  to  correspond.  I  hope  by 
my  next  visit  you  will  have  learned  to  despise 
him  as  you  ought.  Why,  if  I  loved  a  man  ever 
so,  I'd  tear  him  out  of  my  heart  if  he  commit- 
ted a  crime;  ay,  though  I  tore  my  soul  out  of 
my  body  to  do  it." 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  said  Nancy,  recovering 


some  of  her  natural  pugnacity;  "for  we  are 
all  tarred  with  the  same  stick,  gentle  or  simple." 

"But  I  assure  you  I  would,"  cried  Helen; 
"and  so  ought  you." 

"  Well,  miss,  you  begin,"  cried  Nancy,  sud- 
denly firing  up  through  her  tears.  "If  the 
Proserpine  was  scuttled,  which  I've  your  word 
for  it,  Miss  Helen,  and  I  never  knew  you  tell  a 
lie,  why,  your  sweatheart  is  more  to  blame  for 
it  than  mine." 

Helen  rose  with  dignity. 

"  You  are  in  grief,"  said  she.  "  I  leave  you 
to  consider  whether  you  have  done  well  to  af- 
front me  in  your  own  house."  And  she  was 
moving  to  the  door  with  great  dignity,  when 
Nancy  ran  and  stopped  her. 

"  Oh,  don't  leave  me  so,  Miss  Helen,"  she 
cried;  "don't  you  go  to  quarrel  with  me  for 
speaking  the  truth  too  plain  and  rude,  as  is  a 
plain-spoken  body  at  the  best ;  and  in  such  grief 
myself  I  scarce  know  what  to  say.  But  indeed, 
and  in  truth,  you  mustn't  go  and  put  it  abroad 
that  the  ship  was  scuttled  ;  if  you  do,  you  won't 
hurt  Joe  Wylie ;  he'll  get  a  ship  and  fly  the 
country.  Who  you'll  hurt  will  be  your  own 
husband  as  is  to  be — Wardlaws." 

"Shall  I,  Mr.  Penfold?"  asked  Helen,  dis- 
dainfully. 

"Well,  madam,  certainly  it  might  create 
some  unworthy  suspicion." 

"  Suspicion  ?"  cried  Nancy.  "  Don't  you  think 
to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes.  What  had  poor  Joe 
to  gain  by  destroying  that  there  ship  ?  you  know 
very  well  he  was  bribed  to  do  it ;  and  risk  his 
own  life.  And  who  bribed  him  ?  Who  should 
bribe  him,  buf^the  man  as  owned  the  ship?" 

"Miss  Rouse,"  said  Mr.  Penfold,  "I  sympa- 
thize with  your  grief,  and  make  great  allow- 
ance ;  but  I  will  not  sit  here  and  hear  my  wor- 
thy employers  blackened  with  such  terrible  in- 
sinuations. The  great  house  of  Wardlavv  bribe 
a  sailor  to  scuttle  their  own  ship,  with  Miss  Rol- 
leston and  one  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
pounds'  worth  of  gold  on  board  !  Monstrous ! 
monstrous!" 

"  Then  what  did  Joe  Wylie  mean  ?"  replied 
Nancy.  "  Says  he,  'The  poor  man  gets  all  the 
blame.  If  I  was  to  tell  you  who  tempted  me,' 
says  he,  'you'd  hate  me  worse.'  Then  I  say, 
why  should  she  hate  him  worse  ?  Because  it's 
her  sweatheart  tempted  mine.  I  stands  to 
that." 

This  inference,  thus  worded,  struck  Helen  as 
so  droll  that  she  turned  her  head  aside  to  giggle 
a  little.     But  old  Penfold  replied  loftily — 

"Who  cares  what  a  Wylie  says  against  a 
great  old  mercantile  house  of  London  City  ?" 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Penfolds,"  said  Nancy,  with 
one  great  final  sob,  and  dried  her  eyes  with  her 
apron;  and  she  did  it  with  such  an  air,  they 
both  saw  she  was  not  going  to  shed  another  tear 
about  the  matter.  "Very  well;  you  are  both 
against  me  ;  then  I'll  say  no  more.  But  I  know 
what  I  know." 

"  And  what  do  you  know?"  inquired  Helen. 

"Time  will  show,"  said  Nancy,  turning  sud- 
denly very  dogged — "time  will  show." 

Nothing  more  was  to  be  got  out  of  her  after 
that ;  and  Helen,  soon  after,  made  her  a  civil, 
though  stiff,  little  speech  ;  regretted  the  pain  she 
had  inadvertently  caused  her,  and  went  away, 
leaving  Mr.  Penfold  her  address. 


132 


FOUL  PLAY. 


On  her  return  home,  she  entered  the  whole 
adventure  in  her  diary.  She  made  a  separate 
entry  to  this  effect : 

Mysterious.— My  letter  to  Mr.  Penfold  at  the 
office  intercepted. 

Wylie  hints  that  he  was  bribed  by  Messrs. 
Wardlaw. 

Nancy  Rouse  suspects  that  it  was  Arthur,  and 
says  time  will  show. 

As  for  me,  I  can  neither  see  why  Wylie  should 
scuttle  the  ship  unless  he  was  bribed  by  some- 
body, nor  what  Arthur  or  his  father  could  gain 
by  destroying  that  ship.  This  is  all  as  dark  as 
is  that  more  cruel  mystery  which  alone  I  care  to 
solve. 


CHAPTER  LXIII. 

Next  morning,  after  a  sleepless  night,  Nancy 
Rouse  said  to  Mr.  Penfold,  "  Haven't  I  heard 
you  say  as  bank-notes  could  be  traced  to  folk  ?" 

"Certainly,  madam,"  said  Michael:  "but  it 
is  necessary  to  take  the  numbers  of  them." 

"  Oh  !     And  how  do  you  do  that  ?" 

"Why,  every  note  has  its  own  number." 

"La !  ye  don't  say  so;  then  them  fifties  arc 
all  numbered,  belike." 

"  Certainly,  and  if  you  wish  me  to  take  down 
the  numbers,  I  will  do  so." 

"  Well,  sir,  some  other  day  you  shall.  I  could 
not  bear  the  sight  of  them  just  yet ;  for  it  is 
them  as  has  been  the  ruin  of  poor  Joe  Wylie,  I 
do  think." 

Michael  could  not  follow  this ;  but,  the  ques- 
tion having  been  raised,  he  affrised  her,  on 
gi'ounds  of  common  prudence,  not  to  keep  them 
in  the  house  without  taking  down  their  num- 
bers. 

"We  will  talk  about  that  in  the  evening," 
said  Nancy. 

Accordingly,  at  night,  Nancy  produced  the 
notes,  and  Michael  took  down  the  numbers  and 
descriptions  in  his  pocket-book.  They  ran  from 
16,444  to  16,463.  And  he  promised  her  to  try 
and  ascertain  through  what  hands  they  had 
passed.  He  said  he  had  a  friend  in  the  Bank 
of  England,  who  might  perhaps  be  able  to  dis- 
cover to  what  private  bank  they  had  been  issued 
in  the  first  instance,  and  then  those  bankers,  on 
a  strong  representation,  might  perhaps  examine 
their  books,  and  say  to  whom  they  had  paid 
them.  He  told  her  the  notes  were  quite  new, 
and  evidently  had  not  been  separated  since  their 
first  issue. 

Nancy  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  meaning,  and 
set  herself  doggedly  to  watch  until  the  person 
who  had  passed  the  notes  through  the  chimney 
should  come  for  them.  "He  will  miss  them," 
said  she,  "you  mark  my  words." 

Thus  Helen,  though  reduced  to  a  stand-still 
herself,  had  set  an  inquiry  on  foot  which  was 
alive  and  ramifying. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days  she  received  a 
visit  from  Mrs.  Undercliff.  That  lady  came  in, 
and  laid  a  prayer-book  on  the  table,  saying,  "  I 
have  brought  it  you  back,  miss  ;  and  I  want 
you  to  do  something  for  my  satisfaction." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  said  Helen.  "What  is 
it?" 

"  Well,  miss,  first  examine  the  book  and  the 
writing.     Is  it  all  right  ?" 


Helen  examined  it  and  said  it  was : 

"  Indeed,"  said  she,  "  the  binding  looks  fresh- 
er, if  any  thing." 

"  You  have  a  good  eye,"  said  Mrs.  UndercKff. 
"  Well,  what  I  want  you  to  do  is — .  Of  course 
Mr.  Wardlaw  is  a  good  deal  about  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Does  he  go  to  church  with  you  ever?" 

"No." 

"  But  he  would,  if  you  were  to  ask  him." 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  would  ;  but  why?" 

"Manage  matters  so  that  he  shall  go  to  church 
with  you,  and  then  put  the  book  down  for  him 
to  see  the  writing,  all  in  a  moment.  Watch  his 
face  and  tell  me." 

Helen  colored  up  and  said  :  "No  ;  I  can't  do 
that.  Why,  it  would  be  turning  God's  temple 
into  a  trap !     Besides — " 

"The  real  reason  first,  if  .you  please,"  said 
this  horribly  shrewd  old  woman. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Arthur  Wardlaw  is  the  gentleman 
I  am  going  to  marry." 

"  Good  Heavens !"  cried  Mrs.  Undercliff,  taken 
utterly  aback  by  this  most  unexpected  turn. 
"Why,  you  never  told  me  that!" 

"  No,"  said  Helen,  blushing.  "  I  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  go  into  that.  Well,  of  course,  it 
is  not  in  human  nature  that  Mr.  Wardlaw  should 
be  zealous  in  my  good  work,  or  put  himself  for- 
ward ;  but  he  has  never  refused  to  lend  me  any 
help  that  was  in  his  power  ;  and  it  is  repugnant 
to  my  nature  to  suspect  him  of  a  harm,  and  to 
my  feelings  to  lay  a  trap  for  him." 

"Quite  right,"  said  Mrs.  Undercliff;  "of 
course  I  had  no  idea  you  were  going  to  marry 
Mr.  Wardlaw.  I  made  sure  Mr.  Penfold  was 
the  man." 

Helen  blushed  higher  still,  but  made  no  reply. 

Mrs.  Undercliff  turned  the  conversation  direct- 
ly. "  My  son  has  given  many  hours  to  Mr. 
Hand's  two  letters,  and  he  told  me  to  tell  you  he 
is  beginning  to  doubt  whether  Mr.  Hand  is  a  real 
person,  with  a  real  handwriting,  at  all." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Undercliff!  Why,  he  wrote  me 
two  letters !  However,  I  will  ask  Mr.  Penfold 
whether  Mr.  Hand  exists  or  not.  When  shall  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again  ?" 

"Whenever  you  like,  my  dear  young  lady; 
but  not  upon  this  business  of  Penfold  and  Ward- 
law.  I  have  done  with  it  forever  ;  and  my  ad- 
vice to  you,  miss,  is  not  to  stir  the  mud  any  more." 
And  with  these  mysterious  words  the  old  lady 
retired,  leaving  Helen  deeply  discouraged  at  her 
desertion. 

However,  she  noted  down  the  conversation  in 
her  diary,  and  made  this  comment :  People  find 
no  pleasure  in  proving  an  accused  person  inno- 
cent ;  the  charm  is  to  detect  guilt.  This  day  a 
good,  kind  friend  abandons  me  because  I  will 
not  turn  aside  from  my  charitable  mission  to  sus- 
pect another  person  as  wrongfully  as  he  I  love  has 
been  suspected. 

Mem:  To  see,  or  make  inquiries  about,  Mr. 
Hand. 

General  Rolleston  had  taken  a  funished  house 
in  Hanover  Square.  He  now  moved  into  it,  and 
Helen  was  compelled  to  busy  herself  in  house- 
hold arrangementSo 

She  made  the  house  charming  ;  but  unfortu- 
nately stood  in  a  draught  whilst  heated,  and 
caught  a  chill,  which  a  year  ago  would  very 


FOUL  PLAY. 


133 


likely  hare  gone  to  her  lungs  and  killed  her,  but 
now  settled  on  her  limbs  in  violent  neuralgic 
pains,  and  confined  her  to  her  bed  for  a  fort- 
night. 

She  suffered  severely,  but  had  the  consolation 
of  finding  she  was  tenderly  beloved.  Arthur 
sent  flowers  every  day,  and  affectionate  notes 
twice  a  day.  And  her  father  was  constantly  by 
her  bedside. 

At  last  she  came  down  to  the  drawing-room, 
but  lay  on  the  sofa  well  wrapped  up,  and  received 
only  her  most  intimate  friends.  The  neuralgia 
had  now  settled  on  her  right  arm  and  hand,  so  that 
she  could  not  write  a  letter;  and  she  said  to  her- 
self with  a  sigh,  "  Oh,  how  unfit  a  girl  is  to  do 
any  thing  great !  We  always  fall  ill  just  when 
health  and  strength  are  most  needed." 

Nevertheless,  during  this  period  of  illness  and 
inaction,  circumstances  occurred  that  gave  her 

joy- 
Old  Wardlaw  had  long  been  exerting  himself 
in  influential  channels  to  obtain  what  he  called 
justice  for  his  friend  Rolleston,  and  had  received 
some  very  encouraging  promises  ;  for  the  Gen- 
eral's services  were  indisputable ;  and,  while  he 
was  stirring  the  matter,  Helen  was  unconscious- 
ly co-operating  by  her  beauty,  and  the  noise  her 
adventure  made  in  society.  At  last  a  gentleman 
whose  wife  was  about  the  queen  promised  old 
Wardlaw  one  day,  that,  if  a  fair  opportunity 
should  occur,  that  lady  should  tell  Helen's  ad- 
venture, and  how  the  gallant  old  General,  when 
every  body  else  despaired,  had  gone  out  to  the 
Pacific,  and  found  his  daughter,  and  brought  her 
home.  This  lady  was  a  courtier  of  ten  years' 
standing,  and  waited  her  opportunity  ;  but  when 
it  did  come,  she  took  it,  and  she  soon  found  that 
no  great  tact  or  skill  was  necessary  on  such  an 
occasion  as  this.  She  was  listened  to  with  ready 
sympathy,  and  the  very  next  day  some  inquiries 
were  made,  the  result  of  which  was  that  the 
Horse  Guards  offered  Lieutenant-General  Rolles- 
ton  the  command  of  a  crack  regiment  and  a  full ' 
generalship.  At  the  same  time,  it  was  intimated 
to  him  from  another  official  quarter,  that  a  baro- 
etcy  was  at  his  service,  if  he  felt  disposed  to 
accept  it.  The  tears  came  into  the  stout  old 
warrior's  eyes  at  this  sudden  sunshine  of  royal 
favor,  and  Helen  kissed  old  Wardlaw  of  her  own 
accord;  and  the  star  of  the  Wardlaws  rose  into 
the  ascendant,  and  for  a  time  Robert  Penfold 
seemed  to  be  quite  forgotten. 

The  very  day  General  Rolleston  became  Sir 
Edward,  a  man  and  a  woman  called  at  the  Char- 
ing Cross  Hotel,  and  asked  for  Miss  Helen  Rolles- 
ton. 

The  answer  was,  she  had  left  the  hotel  about 
ten  days. 

"  Where  is  she  gone,  if  you  please  ?" 

"We  don't  know." 

"  Why,  hasn't  she  left  her  new  address  ?'' 

"No.  The  footman  came  for  letters  several 
times." 

No  information  was  to  be  got  here,  and  Mr. 
PenfoM  and  Nancy  Rouse  went  home  greatly 
disappointed,  and  puzzled  what  to  do. 

At  first  sight  it  might  appear  easy  for  Mr.  Pen- 
fold  to  learn  the  new  address  of  Miss  Rolleston.  I 
He  had  only  to  ask  Authur  Wardlaw.     But,  to 
tell  the  truth,  during  the  last  fortnight  Nancy  j 
Rouse  had  impressed  her  views  steadily  and  per- 


sistently on  his  mind,  and  he  had  also  made  a 
discovery  that  co-operated  with  her  influence  and 
arguments  to  undermine  his  confidence  in  his 
employer.  What  that  discovery  was  we  must 
leave  him  to  relate. 

Looking,  then,  at  matters  with  a  less  unsuspi- 
cious eye  than  heretofore,  he  could  not  help  ob- 
serving that  Arthur  Wardlaw  never  put  into  the 
office  letter-box  a  single  letter  for  his  sweetheart. 
He  must  write  to  her,  thought  Michael ;  but  I 
am  not  to  know  her  address.  Suppose,  after  all, 
he  did  intercept  that  letter. 

And  now,  like  other  simple,  credulous  men 
whose  confidence  has  been  shaken,  he  was  liter- 
ally brimful  of  suspicions,  some  of  them  reason- 
able, some  of  them  rather  absurd. 

He  had  too  little  art  to  conceal  his  change  of 
mind ;  and  so,  very  soon  after  his  vain  attempt 
to  see  Helen  Rolleston  at  the  inn,  he  was  bun- 
dled off  to  Scotland  on  business  of  the  office. 

Nancy  missed  him  sorely.  She  felt  quite  alone 
in  the  world.  She  managed  to  get  through  the 
day — work  helped  her  ;  but  at  night  she  sat  dis- 
consolate and  bewildered,  and  she  was  now  be- 
ginning to  doubt  her  own  theory.  For  certainly, 
if  all  that  money  had  been  Joe  Wylie's,  he  would 
hardly  have  left  the  country  without  it. 

Now  the  second  evening  after  Michael's  de- 
parture, she  was  seated  in  his  room,  brooding, 
when  suddenly  she  heard  a  peculiar  knocking 
next  door. 

She  listened  a  little  while,  and  then  stole  softly 
down  stairs  to  her  own  little  room. 

Her  suspicions  were  correct.  It  was  the  same 
sort  of  knocking  that  had  preceded  the  phenome- 
non of  the  hand  and  bank-notes.  She  peeped 
into  the  kitchen  and  whispered,  "  Jenny — Polly 
—come  here  " 

A  stout  washerwoman  and  the  mite  of  a  ser- 
vant came,  wondering. 

"  Now  you  stand  there,"  said  Nancy,  "  and 
do  as  I  bid  you.  Hold  your  tongues,  now.  I 
know  all  about  it." 

The  myrmidons  stood  silent,  but  with  panting 
bosoms ;  for  the  mysterious  knocking  now  con- 
cluded, and  a  brick  in  the  chimney  began  to 
move. 

It  came  out,  and  immediately  a  hand  with  a 
ring  on  it  came  through  the  aperture,  and  felt 
about. 

The  mite  stood  firm,  but  the  big  washerwoman 
gave  signs  of  agitation  that  promised  to  end  in 
a  scream. 

Nancy  put  her  hand  roughly  before  the  wom- 
an's mouth.  "Hold  your  tongue,  ye  great 
soft — "  And,  without  finishing  her  sentence,  she 
darted  to  the  chimney  and  seized  the  hand  with 
both  her  own  and  pulled  it  with  such  violence 
that  the  wrist  followed  it  through  the  masonry, 
and  a  roar  was  heard. 

"Hold  on  to  my  waist,  Polly,"  she  cried. 
"  Jenny,  take  the  poker,  and  that  string,  and  tie 
his  hand  to  it  while  we  hold  on.  Quick !  quick  ! 
Are  ye  asleep?" 

Thus  adjured,  the  mite  got  the  poker  against 
the  wall,  and  tried  to  tie  the  wrist  to  it. 

This,  however,  was  not  easy,  the  hand  strug- 
gled so  desperately. 

However,  pulling  is  a  matter  of  weight  rather 
than  muscle :  and  the  weight  of  the  two  wom- 
en pulling  downwards  overpowered  the  violent 
struggles  of  the  man ;  and  the  mite  contrived  to 


134 


FOUL  PLAY. 


tie  the  poker  to  the  wrist,  and  repeat  the  ligatures 
a  dozen  times  in  a  figure  of  eight. 

Then  the  owner  of  the  hand,  who  had  hitherto 
shown  violent  strength,  taken  at  a  disadvantage, 
now  showed  intelligence.  Convinced  that  skill 
as  well  as  force  were  against  him,  he  ceased  to 
struggle,  and  became  quiet. 

The  women  contemplated  their  feat  with  flush- 
ed cheeks  and  sparkling  eyes. 

When  they  had  feasted  a  reasonable  time  on 
the  imprisoned  hand,  and  two  of  them,  true  to 
their  sex,  had  scrutinized  a  green  stone  upon  one 
of  the  fingers,  to  see  whether  it  was  real  or  false, 
Nancy  took  them  by  the  shoulders,  and  bundled 
them  good-humoredly  out  of  the  room. 

She  then  lowered  the  gas  and  came  out,  and 
locked  the  room  up,  and  put  the  key  in  her 
pocket. 

"I'll  have  my  supper  with  you,"  said  she. 
"Come,  Jenny,  I'm  cook;  and  you  make  the 
kitchen  as  a  body  could  eat  off  it,  for  I  expect 
visitors." 

"La,  ma'am,"  said  the  mite;  "he  can't  get 
out  of  the  chimbly  to  visit  hus  through  the  street 
door." 

" No,  girl,"  said  Nancy.  "But  he  can  send 
a  hambassador ;  so  Show  her  heyes  and  plague 
her  art,  as  the  play  says,  for  of  all  the  dirty  kitch- 
ens give  me  hers.  I  never  was  there  but  once, 
and  my  slipper  come  off  for  the  muck,  a  sticking 
to  a  body  like  bird-lime." 

There  was  a  knock  at  Nancy's  street  door; 
the  little  servant,  full  of  curiosity,  was  for  run- 
ning to  it  on  the  instant.  But  Nancy  checked 
her. 

"Take  your  time,"  said  she.  "It  is  only  a 
lodging-house-keeper." 


CHAPTER  LXIV. 

Sir  Edward  Rolleston  could  not  but  feel 
his  obligations  to  the  Wardlaws,  and,  when  his 
daughter  got  better,  he  spoke  warmly  on  the  sub- 
ject, and  asked  her  to  consider  seriously  whether 
she  had  not  tried  Arthur's  affection  sufficiently. 

"  He  does  not  complain  to  you,  I  know,"  said 
he  ;  "but  he  feels  it  very  hard  that  you  should 
punish  him  for  an  act  of  injustice  that  has  already 
so  deeply  afflicted  him.  He  says  he  believes 
some  fool  or  villain  heard  him  say  that  two 
thousand  pounds  was  to  be  borrowed  between 
them,  and  went  and  imposed  on  Robert  Penfold's 
credulity;  meaning,  perhaps,  to  call  again  after 
the  note  had  been  cashed,  and  get  Arthur's  share 
of  the  money." 

"  But  why  did  he  not  come  forward  ?" 

"He  declares  he  did  not  know  when  the  tri- 
al was  till  a  month  after ;  and  his  father  bears 
him  out ;  says  he  was  actually  delirious,  and  his 
life  in  danger.  I  myself  can  testify  that  he  was 
cut  down  just  in  this  way  when  he  heard  the 
Proserpine  was  lost,  and  you  on  board  her.  Why 
not  give  him  credit  for  the  same  genuine  dis- 
tress at  young  Penfold's  misfortune  ?  Come, 
Helen,  is  it  fair  to  afflict  and  punish  this  gentle- 
man for  the  misfortune  of  another,  whom  he  never 
speaks  of  but  with  affection  and  pity  ?  He  says 
that  if  you  would  marry  him  at  once,  he  thinks  he 
should  feel  strong  enough  to  throw  himself  into 


the  case  with  you,  and  would  spare  neither  mon- 
ey nor  labor  to  clear  Robert  Penfold ;  but,  as  it 
is,  he  says  he  feels  so  wretched,  and  so  tortured 
with  jealousy,  that  he  can't  co-operate  warmly 
with  you,  though  his  conscience  reproaches  him 
every  day.  Poor  young  man !  His  is  really  a 
very  hard  case.  For  you  promised  him  your 
hand  before  you  ever  saw  Robert  Penfold." 

"I  did,"  said  Helen;  "but  I  did  not  say  when. 
Let  me  have  one  year  to  my  good  work,  before  I 
devote  my  whole  life  to  Arthur." 

"  Well,  it  will  be  a  year  wasted.  Why  post- 
pone your  marriage  for  that?" 

"I  promised." 

"Yes,  but  he  chose  to  fancy  young  Wardlaw 
is  his  enemy.  You  might  relax  that,  now  he 
tells  you  he  will  co-operate  with  you  as  your 
husband.  Now,  Helen,  tell  the  truth  —  is  it  a 
woman's  work  ?  Have  you  found  it  so  ?  Will 
not  Ai'thur  do  it  better  than  you  ?" 

Helen,  weakened  already  by  days  of  suffering, 
began  to  cry,  and  say,  "  What  shall  I  do  ?  what 
shall  I  do  ?" 

"If  you  have  any  doubt,  my  dear,"  said  Sir 
Edward,  "  then  think  of  what  /owe  these  Ward- 
laws." 

And  with  that  he  kissed  her,  and  left  her  in 
tears ;  and  soon  after,  sent  Arthur  himself  up  to 
plead  his  own  cause. 

It  was  a  fine  summer  afternoon ;  the  long 
French  casements,  looking  on  the  garden  of  the 
Square,  were  open,  and  the  balmy  air  came  in 
and  wooed  the  beautiful  girl's  cheek,  and  just 
stirred  her  hair  at  times. 

Arthur  Wardlaw  came  softly  in,  and  gazed  at 
her  as  she  lay ;  her  loveliness  filled  his  heart 
and  soul ;  he  came  and  knelt  by  her  sofa,  and 
took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it,  and  his  own  eyes 
glistened  with  tenderness. 

He  had  one  thing  in  his  favor.     He  loved  her. 

Her  knowledge  of  this  had  more  than  once  be- 
friended him,  and  made  her  refuse  to  suspect  him 
of  any  great  ill ;  it  befriended  hira  now.  She 
turned  a  look  of  angelic  pity  on  him. 

"  Poor  Arthur!"  she  said.  "You  and  I  are 
both  unhappy." 

"But  we  shall  be  happy,  ere  long,  I  hope," 
said  Arthur. 

Helen  shook  her  head. 

Then  he  patted  her,  and  coaxed  her,  and  said 
he  would  be  her  servant,  as  well  as  a  husband, 
and  no  wish  of  her  heart  should  go  ungratified. 

"  None  ?"  said  she,  fixing  her  eyes  on  him. 

"  Not  one,"  said  he  ;  "  upon  my  honor." 

Then  he  was  so  soft  and  persuasive,  and  al- 
luded so  delicately  to  her  plighted  faith  that  she 
felt  like  a  poor  bird  caught  in  a  silken  net. 

"Sir  Edward  is  very  good,"  said  he;  "he 
feels  for  me." 

At  that  moment,  a  note  was  sent  up. 

"  Mr.  Wardlaw  is  here,  and  has  asked  me 
when  the  marriage  is  to  be.  I  can't  tell  him  : 
I  look  like  a  fool." 

Helen  sighed  deeply  and  had  begun  to  gather 
those  tears  that  weaken  a  woman.  She  glanced 
despairingly  to  and  fro :  and  saw  no  escape. 
Then,  Heaven  knows  why  or  wherefore, — proba- 
bly with  no  clear  design  at  all  but  a  woman's 
weak  desire  to  cause  a  momentary  diversion,  to 
put  off  the  inevitable  for  five  minutes, — sbo  said 
to  Arthur:  "Please  give  me  that  prayer-book. 
Thank  you.     It  is  right  you  should  know  this." 


FOUL  PLAY. 


135 


And  she  put  Cooper's  deposition,  and  Welch's, 
into  his  hands. 

He  devoured  them,  and  started  up  in  great  in- 
dignation. "  It  is  an  abominable  slander,"  said 
he.  "  We  have  lost  ten  thousand  pounds  by  the 
wreck  of  that  ship,  and  Wylie's  life  was  saved 
by  a  miracle  as  well  as  your  own.  It  is  a  foul 
slander.  I  hurl  it  from  me."  And  he  made 
his  words  good  by  whirling  the  prayer-book  out 
of  window. 

Helen  uttered  a  scream.  "My  mother's 
prayer-book!"  she  cried. 

"Oh  !  I  beg  pardon,"  said  he. 

"As  well  you  may,"  said  she.  "Run  and 
send  George  after  it." 

"No,  I'll  go  myself,"  said  he.  "Pray  for- 
give me :  you  don't  know  what  a  terrible  slan- 
der they  have  desecrated  your  prayer-book 
with." 

He  ran  out  and  was  a  long  time  gone.  He 
came  back  at  last,  looking  terrified. 

"I  can't  find  it,"  said  he:  "somebody  has 
carried  it  off.     Oh,  how  unfortunate  I  am  !" 

"Not  find  it !"  said  Helen.  " But  it  nmst  be 
found." 

"  Of  course  it  must  be  found,"  said  Arthur. 
"A  pretty  scandal  to  go  into  the  hands  of 
Pleaven  knows  who.  I  shall  offer  twenty  guin- 
eas reward  for  it  at  once.  I'll  go  down  to  the 
Times  this  moment.  Was  ever  any  thing  so  un- 
lucky ?" 

"Yes,  go  at  once,"  said  Helen;  "and  I'll 
send  the  servants  into  the  Square.  I  don't  want 
to  say  any  thing  unkind,  Arthur,  but  you  ought 
not  to  have  thrown  my  prayer-book  into  the 
public  street." 

"I  know  I  ought  not.  I  am  ashamed  of  it 
myself." 

"  Well  let  me  see  the  advertisement." 

"You  shall.  I  have  no  doubt  we  shall  recov- 
er it." 

Next  morning  the  Times  contained  an  adver- 
tisement offering  twenty  guineas  for  a  prayer- 
book  lost  in  Hanover  Square,  and  valuable,  not 
in  itself,  but  as  a  relic  of  a  deceased  parent. 

In  the  afternoon  Arthur  called  to  know  if  any 
body  had  brought  the  prayer-book  back- 

Helen  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  said  "No." 

He  seemed  very  sorry,  and  so  penitent  that 
Helen  said, 

"Do  not  despair.  And  ifit  is  gone,  why,  I  must 
remember  you  have  forgiven  me  something,  and 
I  must  forgive  you." 

The  footman  came  in. 

"  If  you  please,  miss,  here  is  a  woman  wishes 
to  speak  to  you  ;  says  she  has  brought  a  prayer- 
book." 

"  Oh,  show  her  up  at  once,"  cried  Helen. 

Arthur  turned  away  his  head  to  hide  a  cyni- 
cal smile.  He  had  good  reasons  for  thinking  it 
was  not  the  one  he  had  flung  out  of  the  window 
yesterday.  A  tall  woman  came  in,  wearing  a 
thick  veil  that  concealed  her  features. 

She  entered  on  her  business  at  once. 

"You  lost  a  prayer-book  in  this  Square  yes- 
terday, madam." 

"Yes." 

"  You  offer  twenty  guineas  reward  for  it." 

"Yes." 

"  Please  to  look  at  this  one." 

Helen  examined  it,  and  said  with  joy  it  was 
hers. 


Arthur  was  thunderstruck.  He  could  not  be- 
lieve his  senses. 

"  Let  me  look  at  it,"  said  he. 

His  eyes  went  at  once  to  the  writing.  He  turn- 
ed as  pale  as  death,  and  stood  petrified. 

The  woman  took  the  prayer-book  out  of  his 
unresisting  hand,  and  said, 

"You'll  excuse  me,  sir;  but  it  is  a  large  re- 
ward, and  gentlefolks  sometimes  go  from  their 
word  when  the  article  is  found." 

Helen,  who  was  delighted  at  getting  back  her 
book,  and  rather  tickled  at  Arthur  having  to  pay 
twenty  guineas  for  losing  it,  burst  out  laughing, 
and  said, 

"  Give  her  the  reward,  Arthur  ;  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  pay  for  your  misdeeds." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Arthur,  struggling 
for  composure. 

He  sat  down  to  draw  a  check. 

"What  name  shall  I  put?" 

"Hum!     Edith  Hesket." 

"Twot's?" 

"No,  only  one." 

"There." 

"  Thank  you,  sir." 

She  put  the  check  into  her  purse,  and  brought 
the  prayer-book  to  Helen. 

"  Lock  it  up  at  once,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  so 
low  that  Arthur  heard  her  murmur,  but  not  the 
words:  and  she  retired,  leaving  Helen  staring 
with  amazement,  and  Arthur  in  a  cold  perspira- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

When  the  Springbok  weighed  anchor  and  left 
the  island,  a  solitary  form  was  seen  on  Telegraph 
Hill. 

When  she  passed  eastward,  out  of  sight  of  that 
point,  a  solitary  figure  was  seen  on  the  cliffs. 

When  her  course  brought  the  island  dead  as- 
tern of  her,  a  solitary  figure  stood  on  the  east 
bluff  of  the  island,  and  was  the  last  object  seen 
from  the  boat  as  she  left  those  waters  forever. 

What  words  can  tell  the  sickening  sorrow  and 
"utter  desolation  that  possessed  that  yearning 
bosom ! 

When  the  boat  that  had  carried  Helen  away 
was  out  of  sight,  he  came  back  with  uneven 
steps  to  the  cave,  and  looked  at  all  the  familiar 
objects  with  stony  eyes,  and  scarce  recognized 
them,  for  the  sunshine  of  her  presence  was 
there  no  more.  He  wandered  to  and  fro  in  a 
heavy  stupor,  broken  every  now  and  then  by 
sharp  pangs  of  agony  that  almost  made  him 
scream.  And  so  the  poor  bereaved  creature 
wandered  about  all  day.  He  could  not  eat,  he 
could  not  sleep,  his  misery  was  more  than  he 
could  bear.  One  day  of  desolation  succeeded 
another.  And  what  men  say  so  hastily  was 
true  for  once.  "  His  life  was  a  burden."  He 
dragged  it  about  with  him  he  scarce  knew  how. 

He  began  to  hate  all  the  things  he  had  loved 
whilst  she  was  there.  The  beautiful  cave,  all 
glorious  with  pearl,  that  he  had  made  for  her, 
he  could  not  enter  it,  the  sight  killed  him,  and 
she  not  there. 

He  left  Paradise  Bay  altogether  at  last,  and 
anchored  his  boat  in  a  nook  of  Seal  Bay.  And 
there   he  slept  in  general.     But  sometimes  he 


136 


FOUL  PLAY. 


would  lie  down,  wherever  he  happened  to  be  and 
sleep  as  long  as  he  could. 

To  him  to  wake  was  a  calamity.  And,  when 
he  did  wake,  it  was  always  with  a  dire  sense  of 
reviving  misery,  and  a  deep  sigh  at  the  dark  day 
he  knew  awaited  him. 

His  flesh  wasted  on  his  bones,  and  his  clothes 
hung  loosely  about  him.  The  sorrow  of  the 
mind  reduced  him  almost  to  that  miserable  con- 
dition in  which  he  had  landed  on  the  island. 

The  dog  and  the  seal  were  faithful  to  him, 
and  often  whimpered;  their  minds,  accustomed 
to  communicate  without  the  aid  of  speech,  found 
out,  Heaven  knows  how !  that  he  was  in  grief  or 
in  sickness. 

These  two  creatures,  perhaps,  saved  his  life  or 
his  reason.  They  came  between  his  bereaved 
heart  and  utter  solitude. 

Thus  passed  a  month  of  wretchedness  unspeak- 
able. 

Then  his  grief  took  a  less  sullen  form. 

He  came  back  to  Paradise  Bay,  and  at  sight 
of  it  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping. 

These  were  his  first  tears,  and  inaugurated  a 
grief  more  tender  than  ever,  but  less  akin  to  mad- 
ness and  despair. 

Now  he  used  to  go  about  and  cry  her  name 
aloud,  passionately,  by  night  and  day. 

"Oh,  Helen!     Helen!" 

And  next  his  mind  changed  in  one  respect, 
and  he  clung  to  every  reminiscence  of  her. 
Every  morning  he  went  round  her  haunts,  and 
kissed  every  place  where  he  had  seen  her  put  her 
hand. 

Only  the  cave  he  could  not  yet  face. 

He  tried,  too.  He  went  to  the  mouth  of  it 
again  and  again,  and  looked  in  ;  but  go  into  it 
and  face  it,  empty  of  her — he  could  not. 

He  prayed  often. 

One  night  he  saw  her  in  a  dream. 

She  bent  a  look  of  angelic  pity  on  him,  and 
said  but  these  words,  "Live  in  my  cave,"  then 
vanished. 

Alone  on  an  island  in  the  vast  Pacific,  who 
can  escape  superstition?  It  fills  the  air.  He 
took  this  communication  as  a  command,  and  the 
next  night  he  slept  in  the  cave. 

But  he  entered  it  in  the  dark,  and  left  it  be- 
fore dawn. 

By  degrees,  however,  he  plucked  up  courage 
and  faced  it  in  daylight.  But  it  was  a  sad  trial : 
he  came  out  crying  bitterly  after  a  few  minutes. 

Still  he  persevered,  because  her  image  had 
bid  him ;  and  at  last,  one  evening,  he  even 
lighted  the  lamp,  and  sat  there  looking  at  the 
glorious  walls  and  roof  his  hapless  love  had 
made. 

Getting  stronger  by  degrees,  he  searched 
about,  and  found  little  relics  of  her — a  glove,  a 
needle,  a  great  hat  she  made  out  of  some  large 
leaves.     All  these  he  wept  over  and  cherished. 

But  one  day  he  found  at  the  very  back  of  the 
cave  a  relic  that  made  him  start  as  if  a  viper 
had  stung  his  loving  heart.     It  was  a  letter. 

He  knew  it  in  a  moment.  It  had  already 
caused  him  many  a  pang;  but  now  it  almost 
drove  him  mad.     Arthur  Wardlaw's  letter. 

He  recoiled  from  it,  and  let  it  lie.  He  went 
out  of  the  cave,  and  cursed  his  hard  fate.  But 
be  came  back.  It  was  one  of  those  horrible 
things  a  man  abhors,  yet  can  not  keep  away  from. 


He  took  it  up  and  dashed  it  down  with  rage  many 
times ;  but  it  all  ended  in  his  lighting  the  lamp  at 
night,  and  torturing  himself  with  every  word  of 
that  loving  letter. 

And  she  was  going  home  to  the  writer  of  that 
letter,  and  he  was  left  prisoner  on  the  island. 
He  cursed  his  generous  folly,  and  writhed  in 
agony  at  the  thought.  He  raged  with  jealousy, 
so  that  his  very  grief  was  blunted  for  a  time. 

He  felt  as  if  he  must  go  mad. 

Then  he  prayed — prayed  fervently.  And  at 
last,  worn  out  with  such  fierce  and  contending 
emotions,  he  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  did  not 
wake  till  the  sun  was  high  in  heaven. 

He  woke ;  and  the  first  thing  he  saw  was  the 
fatal  letter  lying  at  his  feet  in  a  narrow  stream 
of  sunshine  that  came  peering  in. 

He  eyed  it  with  horror.  This  was  then  to 
haunt  him  by  night  and  day. 

He  eyed  it  and  eyed  it.  Then  turned  his  face 
from  it ;  but  could  not  help  eying  it  again. 

And  at  last  certain  words  in  this  letter  seemed 
to  him  to  bear  an  affinity  to  another  piece  of 
writing  that  had  also  caused  him  a  great  woe. 
Memory  by  its  subtle  links  connected  these  two 
enemies  of  his  together.  He  eyed  it  still  more 
keenly,  and  that  impression  became  strengthen- 
ed. He  took  the  letter  and  looked  at  it  close, 
and  held  it  at  arm's  length,  and  devoured  it ; 
and  the  effect  of  this  keen  examination  was  very 
remarkable.  It  seemed  to  restore  the  man  to 
energy  and  to  something  like  hope.  His  eyes 
sparkled,  and  a  triumphant  "Ah"  burst  from 
his  bosom. 

He  became  once  more  a  man  of  action.  He 
rose,  and  bathed,  and  walked  rapidly  to  and  fro 
upon  the  sands,  working  himself  up  to  a  daring 
enterprise.  Ho  took  his  saw  into  the  jungle,  and 
cut  down  a  tree  of  a  kind  common  enough  there. 
It  was  wonderfully  soft,  and  almost  as  light  as 
cork.  The  wood  of  this  was  literally  useless  foi 
any  other  purpose  than  that  to  which  Penfold 
destined  it.  He  cut  a  great  many  blocks  of  this 
wood,  and  drilled  holes  in  them,  and,  having 
hundreds  of  yards  of  good  line,  attached  these 
quasi  corks  to  the  gunwale,  so  as  to  make  a  life- 
boat. This  work  took  him  several  days,  during 
which  time  an  event  occurred  that  encouraged 
him. 

One  morning  he  saw  about  a  million  birds  very 
busy  in  the  bay,  and  it  proved  to  be  a  spermaceti 
whale  come  ashore. 

He  went  out  to  her  directly  with  all  his  tools, 
for  he  wanted  oil  for  his  enterprise,  and  the  seal 
oil  was  exhausted. 

When  he  got  near  the  whale  in  his  boat,  he 
observed  a  harpoon  sticking  in  the  animal's  back. 
He  cut  steps  with  his  axe  in  the  slippery  carcass, 
and  got  up  to  it  as  well  as  he  could,  extracted  it 
by  cutting  and  pulling,  and  threw  it  down  into 
his  boat,  but  not  till  he  had  taken  the  precaution 
to  stick  a  great  piece  of  blubber  on  the  barbed 
point.  He  then  sawed  and  hacked  under  diffi- 
culties, being  buffeted  and  bothered  with  thou- 
sands of  birds,  so  eager  for  slices,  that  it  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  avoid  the  making  of 
minced  fowl ;  but,  true  to  his  gentle  creed,  he 
contrived  to  get  three  hundred-weight  of  blubber 
without  downright  killing  any  of  these  greedy 
competitors,  though  he  buffeted  some  of  them, 
and  nearly  knocked  out  what  little  sense  they 
had.     He  came  ashore  with  his  blubber  and  har- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


137 


poon,  and  when  he  came  to  examine  the  latter, 
he  found  that  the  name  of  the  owner  was  cut 
deeply  in  the  steel— Josh.  Fullalove,  J.  Fernan- 
dez. This  inscription  had  a  great  effect  on  Rob- 
ert Penfold's  mind.  It  seemed  to  bring  the  isl- 
and of  Juan  Fernandez,  and  humanity  in  gen- 
eral, nearer  to  him. 

He  boiled  down  the  blubber,  and  put  a  barrel  of 
oil  on  board  his  life-boat.  He  had  a  ship's  lantern 
to  burn  it  in.  He  also  pitched  her  bottom  as  far 
as  he  could  get  at  it,  and  provisioned  her  for  a 
long  voyage  ;  taking  care  to  lash  the  water-cask 
and  beef-cask  to  the  fore-thwart  and  foremast,  in 
case  of  rough  weather. 

When  he  had  done  all  this,  it  occurred  to 
him  suddenly,  that,  should  he  ever  escape  the 
winds  and  waves,  and  get  to  England,  he 
would  then  have  to  encounter  difficulties  and 
dangers  of  another  class,  and  lose  the  battle  by 
his  poverty. 

"  I  play  my  last  stake  now,"  said  he.  "  I  will 
throw  no  chance  away." 

He  reflected  with  great  bitterness  on  the  mis- 
ery that  want  of  money  had  already  brought  on 
him  ;  and  he  vowed  to  reach  England  rich,  or 
go  to  the  bottom  of  the  Pacific. 

This  may  seem  a  strange  vow  for  a  man  to 
make  on  an  unknown  island  ;  but  Robert  Penfold 
had  a  powerful  understanding,  sharpened  by  ad- 
versity, and  his  judgment  told  him  truly  that  he 
possessed  wealth  on  this  island,  both  directly  and 
indirectly.  In  the  first  place,  knowledge  is  some- 
times wealth,  and  the  knowledge  of  this  island 
was  a  thing  he  could  sell  to  the  American  mer- 
chants on  the  coast  of  Chili ;  and,  with  this  view, 
he  put  on  board  his  boat  specimens  of  the  cassia 
and  other  woods,  fruit,  spices,  pitch,  guano,  pink 
and  red  coral,  pearl  oysters,  shells,  cochineal, 
quartz,  cotton,  etc.,  etc. 

Then  he  took  his  chisel,  and  struck  all  the 
larger  pearls  off  the  shells  that  lined  Helen's 
cave.  The  walls  and  roof  yielded  nine  enor- 
mous pearls,  thirty  large  ones,  and  a  great  many 
of  the  usual  size.  He  made  a  pocket  inside  his 
waistcoat  to  hold  the  pearls  safe. 

Then  he  took  his  spade  and  dug  into  the  Span- 
ish ship  for  treasure.  But  this  was  terrible  work. 
The  sand  returned  upon  the  spade  and  trebled 
his  labor. 

The  condition  to  which  time  and  long  sub- 
mersion had  reduced  this  ship  and  cargo  was 
truly  remarkable.  Nothing  to  be  seen  of  the 
deck  but  a  thin  brown  streak  that  mingled  with 
the  sand  in  patches  ;  of  the  timbers  nothing  but 
the  uprights,  and  of  those  the  larger  half  eaten 
and  dissolved. 

He  dug  five  days  and  found  nothing  solid. 

On  the  sixth,  being  now  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ship,  he  struck  his  spade  against  something  hard 
and  heavy. 

On  inspection  it  looked  like  ore,  but  of  what 
metal  he  could  not  tell ;  it  was  as  black  as  a 
coal.  He  threw  this  on  one  side,  and  found 
nothing  more ;  but  the  next  day  he  turned  up  a 
smaller  fragment,  which  he  took  home  and  clean- 
ed with  lime-juice.  It  came  out  bright  in  places 
like  silver. 

This  discovery  threw  light  on  the  other.  The 
piece  of  black  ore  weighing  about  seven  pounds, 
was  in  reality  silver  coin,  that  a  century  of  sub- 
mersion had  reduced  to  the  very  appearance  it 
wore  before  it  ever  went  into  the  furnace. 


He  dug  with  fresh  energy  on  this  discovery, 
but  found  nothing  more  in  the  ship  that  day. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  to  carry  off  a  few 
hundred  weight  of  pink  coral. 

He  got  some  fine  specimens ;  and,  while  ho 
was  at  that  work,  he  fell  in  with  a  piece  that 
looked  very  solid  at  the  root  and  unnaturally 
heavy.  On  a  nearer  examination  this  proved  to 
be  a  foreign  substance  incrusted  with  coral.  It 
had  twined  and  twisted  and  curled  over  the  thing 
in  a  most  unheard  -  of  way.  Robert  took  it 
home,  and  by  rubbing  here  and  there  with 
lemon-juice,  at  last  satisfied  himself  that  this 
object  was  a  silver  box  about  the  size  of  an  oc- 
tavo volume. 

It  had  no  keyhole,  had  evidently  been  soldered 
up  for  greater  security,  and  Robert  was  left  to 
conjecture  how  it  had  come  there. 

He  connected  it  at  once  with  the  ship,  and  felt 
assured  that  some  attempt  had  been  made  to  save 
it.  There  it  had  lain  by  the  side  of  the  vessel 
all  these  years,  but  falling  clear  of  the  sand,  had 
been  embraced  by  the  growing  coral,  and  was 
now  a  curiosity  if  not  a  treasure. 

He  would  not  break  the  coral  but  put  it  on 
board  his  life-bo#  just  as  it  was. 

And  now  he  dug  no  more.  He  thought  he 
could  sell  the  galleon  as  well  as  the  island,  by 
sample,  and  he  was  impatient  to  be  gone. 

He  reproached  himself,  a  little  unjustly,  for  al- 
lowing a  woman  to  undertake  the  task  of  clear- 
ing him. 

• '  To  what  annoyances,  and  perhaps  affronts, 
have  I  exposed  her,"  said  he.  "  No,  it  is  a  man's 
business  to  defend,  not  to  be  defended." 

To  conclude  :  At  high  tide  one  fine  afternoon 
he  went  on  board  with  Ponto,  and,  hoisting  his 
foresail  only,  crossed  the  bay,  ranging  along  the 
island  till  he  reached  the  bluff.  He  got  under 
this,  and,  by  means  of  his  compass  and  previous 
observations,  set  the  boat's  head  exactly  on  the 
line  the  ducks  used  to  take.  Then  he  set  his 
mainsail  too,  and  stretched  boldly  out  across  the 
great  Pacific  Ocean. 

Time  seems  to  wear  out  every  thing,  even  bad 
luck.  It  ran  strong  against  Robert  Penfold  for 
years  :  but,  when  it  had  struck  its  worst  blow  and 
parted  him  and  Helen  Rolleston,  it  relaxed,  and  a 
tide  of  good  luck  set  in,  which,  unfortunately,  the 
broken-hearted  man  could  not  appreciate  at  the 
time.  However,  so  it  was.  He  wanted  oil ;  and 
a  whale  came  ashore.  He  wanted  treasure  and 
the  sea  gave  him  a  little  back  of  all  it  had  swal- 
lowed ;  and  now  he  wanted  fine  weather,  and  the 
ocean  for  days  and  nights  was  like  peach-colored 
glass,  dimpled  her  and  there;  and  soft  westerly 
airs  fanned  him  along  by  night  and  day. 

To  be  sure  he  was  on  the  true  Pacific  Ocean, 
at  a  period  when  it  is  really  free  from  storms. 
Still,  even  for  that  latitude,  he  had  wonderful 
weather  for  six  days ;  and  on  the  seventh  he  fell 
in  with  a  schooner,  the  skipper  and  crew  of  which 
looked  over  the  bulwarks  at  him  with  wonder 
and  cordiality,  and,  casting  out  a  rope  astern, 
took  him  in  tow. 

The  skipper  had  been  eying  him  with  amaze- 
ment for  some  hours  through  his  telescope  ;  but 
he  was  a  man  that  had  seen  a  great  many  strange 
things,  and  it  was  also  a  point  of  honor  with  him 
never  to  allow  that  he  was  astonished  or  taken 
by  surprise,  or  greatly  moved. 


138 


FOUL  PLAY. 


"Wal,  stranger,"  said  he,  "what  craft  is 
that  ?" 

"The  Helen." 

"  Where  do  you  hail  from  ?  not  that  I  am 
curious." 

"From  an  unknown  island." 

"Do  tell.  What,  another !  Is  it  anyways 
nigh  ?" 

"Not  within  seven  hundred  miles." 

"  Je — rusalem  !  Have  you  sailed  all  that  in 
a  cockle  shell  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Why,  what  are  ye  ?  the  Wandering  Jew 
afloat,  or  the  Ancient  Mariner  ?  or  only  a  kinder 
nautilus  ?" 

"I'm  a  landsman." 

"  A  landsman  !  then  so  is  Neptune.  What  is 
your  name  when  you  are  ashore  ?" 

• '  Robert  Tenfold.  The  Reverend  Robert  Pen- 
fold." 

"  The  Reverend —    Je — rusalem  !" 

"  May  I  ask  what  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"Wal,  I  reckon  you  may,  stranger;  I'm  Joshua 
Fullalove  from  the  States,  at  present  located  on 
the  island  of  Juan  Fernandez." 

• '  Joshua  Fullalove !  That  is  lucky.  I've  got 
something  that  belongs  to  you." 

He  looked  about  and  found  the  harpoon,  and 
handed  it  up  in  a  mighty  straightforward,  simple 
way. 

Joshua  stared  at  him  incredulously  at  first,  but 
afterwards  with  amazement.  He  handled  the 
harpoon  and  inquired  where  Robert  had  fallen 
in  with  it.     Robert  told  him. 

"  You're  an  honest  man,"  said  Fullalove,  "  you 
air.  Come  aboard."  He  was  then  pleased  to 
congratulate  himself  on  his  strange  luck  in  hav- 
ing drifted  across  an  honest  man  in  the  middle 
of  the  ocean.  "  I've  heerd,"  said  he  "  of  an  old 
chap  as  groped  about  all  his  life  with  a  lantern, 
and  couldn't  find  one.     Let's  liquor." 

He  had  some  celestial  mixture  or  other  made, 
including  rum,  mint,  and  snow  from  the  Andes, 
and  then  began  his  interrogatories,  again  dis- 
claiming curiosity  at  set  intervals. 

"  Whither  bound,  honest  man  ?" 

"  The  coast  of  Chili. 

"What  for?" 

"Trade." 

"  D'ye  buy  or  sell  ?  Not  that  it  is  my  busi- 
ness " 

"I  wish  to  sell." 

"What's  the  merchandise?" 

"Knowledge  and  treasure." 

"Fullalove  scratched  his  head.  "Hain't  ye 
got  a  few  conundrums  to  swap  for  gold  dust  as 
well  ?" 

Robert  smiled  faintly :  the  first  time  this  six 
weeks. 

"I  have  to  sell  the  knowledge  of  an  island 
with  rich  products :  and  I  have  to  sell  the  con- 
tents of  a  Spanish  treasure-ship  that  I  found 
buried  in  the  sand  of  that  island." 

The  Yankee's  eyes  glistened. 

"Wal,"  said  he,  "I  do  business  in  islands  my- 
self. I've  leased  this  Juan  Fernandez.  But  one 
of  them  is  enough  at  a  time.  I'm  monarch  of 
all  I  survey  :  but  then  what  I  survey  is  a  mix- 
allaneous  bilin'  of  Irish  and  Otaheitans,  that  it's 
pizen  to  be  monarch  of.  And  now  them  darned 
Irish  has  taken  to  converting  the  heathens  to 
superstition   and   the   worship   of  images,  and 


breaks  their  heads  if  they  won't :  and  the  hea- 
thens are  all  smiles  and  sweetnsss  and  immorality. 
No,  islands  is  no  bait  to  me." 

"I  never  asked  you,"  said  Robert.  "  What  I 
do  ask  you  is  to  land  me  at  Valparaiso.  There 
I'll  find  a  purchaser,  and  will  pay  you  hand- 
somely for  your  kindness." 

"That  is  fair,"  said  Fullalove,  dryly.  "What 
will  you  pay  me  ?" 

"I'll  show  you,"  said  Robert.  He  took  out 
of  his  pocket  the  smaller  conglomeration  of 
Spanish  coin,  and  put  it  into  Fullalove's  hand. 
"That,"  said  he,  "is  silver  coin  I  dug  out  of 
the  galleon." 

Fullalove  inspected  it  keenly,  and  trembled 
slightly.  Robert  then  went  lightly  over  the 
taffrail,  and  slid  down  the  low  rope  into  his 
boat.  He  held  up  the  black  mass  we  have  de- 
scribed. 

"This  is  solid  silver.     I  will  give  it  you,  and 
my  best  thanks,  to  land  me  at  Valparaiso." 
"  Heave  it  aboard,"  said  the  Yankee. 

Robert  steadied  himself,  and  hove  it  on  board. 
The  Yankee  caught  it,  heavy  as  it  was,  and  sub- 
jected it  to  some  chemical  test  directly. 

"Wal,"  said  he,  "that  is  a  bargain.  I'll 
land  ye  at  Valparaiso  for  this.  Jack,  lay  her 
head  S.  S.  E.  and  by  E." 

Having  given  this  order,  he  leaned  over  the 
taffrail  and  asked  for  more  samples.  Robert 
showed  him  the  fruits,  woods,  and  shells,  and 
the  pink  coral,  and  bade  him  observe  that  the 
boat  was  ballasted  with  pearl  oysters.  He  threw 
him  up  one,  and  a  bunch  of  pink  coral.  He 
then  shinned  up  the  rope  again,  and  the  inter- 
rogatories recommenced.  But  this  time  he  was 
questioned  closely  as  to  who  he  was,  and  how 
he  came  on  the  island  ?  and  the  questions  were 
so  shrewd  and  penetrating  that  his  fortitude  gave 
way,  and  he  cried  out  in  anguish,  "Man,  man  ! 
do  not  torture  me  so.  Oh,  do  not  make  me  talk 
of  my  grief  and  my  wrongs!  they  are  more 
than  I  can  bear." 

Fullalove  forbore  directly,  and  offered  him  a 
cigar.  He  took  it,  and  it  soothed  him  a  little ; 
it  was  long  since  he  had  smoked  one.  His 
agitation  subsided,  and  a  quiet  tear  or  two  roll- 
ed down  his  haggard  cheek. 

The  Yankee  saw,  and  kept  silence. 

But,  when  the  cigar  was  nearly  smoked  out, 
he  said  he  was  afraid  Robert  would  not  find  a 
customer  for  his  island,  and  what  a  pity  Joshua 
Fullalove  was  cool  on  islands  just  now. 

"Oh,"  said  Robert,  "I  know  there  are  en- 
terprising Americans  on  the  coast  who  will  give 
me  money  for  what  I  have  to  sell." 

Fullalove  was  silent  a  minute,  then  he  got  a 
piece  of  wood  and  a  knife,  and  said,  with  an  air 
of  resignation,  "I  reckon  we'll  have  to  deal." 

Need  we  say  that  to  deal  had  been  his  eager 
desire  from  the  first  ? 

He  now  began  to  whittle  a  peg,  and  awaited 
the  attack. 

"  What  will  you  give  me,  sir?" 

"What,  money  down?  And  you  got  noth- 
ing to  sell  but  chances.  Why,  there's  an  old 
cuss  about  that  knows  where  the  island  is  as 
well  as  you  do." 

"  Then  of  course  you  will  treat  with  him," 
said  Robert  sadly. 

"Darned  if  I  do,"  said  the  Yankee.  "  You 
are  in  trouble,  and  he  is  not,  nor  never  will  be 


FOUL  PLAY. 


139 


till  he  dies,  and  then  he'll  get  it  hot,  I  calc'late. 
He  is  a  thief  and  stole  my  harpoon:  you  are 
an  honest  man  and  brought  it  back.  I  reckon 
I'll  deal  with  you  and  not  with  that  old  cuss ; 
not  by  a  jugful !  But  it  must  be  on  a  percent- 
age. You  tell  me  the  bearings  of  that  there 
island,  and  I'll  work  it  and  pay  five  per  cent 
on  the  gross." 

"Would  you  mind  throwing  that  piece  of 
wood  into  the  sea,  Mr.  Fullalove?"  said  Rob- 
ert. 

"  Caen't  be  done,  nohow.  I  caen't  deal  with- 
out whittlin'." 

"You  mean  you  can't  take  an  unfair  advan- 
tage without  it.  Come,  Mr.  Fullalove,  let  us 
cut  this  short.  I  am,  as  you  say,  an  honest  and 
most  unfortunate  man.  Sir,  I  was  falsely  ac- 
cused of  a  crime  and  banished  my  country.  I 
can  prove  my  innocence  now  if  I  can  but  get 
home  with  a  great  deal  of  money.  So  much 
for  me.  You  are  a  member  of  the  vainest  and 
most  generous  nation  in  the  world." 

"  Wal,  how  that's  kinder  honey  and  vinegar 
mixed,"  said  Fullalove;  "pretty  good  for  a 
Britisher,  though." 

"You  are  a  man  of  that  nation  which,  in  all 
the  agonies  and  unparalleled  expenses  of  civil 
war,  smarting,  too,  under  anonymous  taunts 
from  England,  did  yet  send  over  a  large  sum 
to  relieve  the  distresses  of  certain  poor  English- 
men who  were  indirect  victims  of  that  same 
calamity.  The  act,  the  time,  the  misery  reliev- 
ed, the  taunts  overlooked,  prove  your  nation 
superior  to  all  others  in  generosity.  At  least 
my  reading,  which  is  very  large,  affords  no 
parallel  to  it,  either  in  ancient  or  modern  his- 
tory. Mr.  Fullalove,  please  to  recollect  that  you 
are  a  member  of  that  nation,  and  that  I  am  very 
"unhappy  and  helpless,  and  want  money  to  undo 
cruel  wrongs,  but  have  no  heart  to  chaffer 
much.  Take  the  island  and  the  treasures,  and 
give  me  half  the  profits  you  make.  Is  not  that 
fair?" 

Fullalove  wore  a  rueful  countenance. 

"Darn  the  critter,"  said  he,  "he'll  take  skin 
off  my  bones  if  I  don't  mind.  Fust  Britisher 
ever  I  met  as  had  the  sense  to  see  that.  'Twas 
ratther  handsome,  warn't  it  ?  Wal,  human  na- 
ture is  deep ;  every  man  you  tackle  in  business 
larns  ye  something.  What  with  picking  ye  out 
o'  the  sea,  and  you  giving  me  back  the  harpoon 
the  cuss  stole,  and  your  face  like  a  young  calf, 
when  you  are  the  'cutest  fox  out,  and  you  giving 
the  great  United  States  their  due,  I'm  no  more 
fit  to  deal  than  mashed  potatoes.  Now  I  cave ; 
it  is  only  for  once.  Next  time  don't  you  try  to 
palaver  me.  Draw  me  a  map  of  our  island, 
Britisher,  and  mark  where  the  Spaniard  lies; 
I  tell  you  I  know  her  name,  and  the  year  she  was 
lost  in :  larned  that  at  Lima  one  day.  Kinder 
startled  me,  you  did,  when  you  showed  me  the 
coin  out  of  her.  Wal,  there's  my  hand  on  haelf 
profits,  and,  if  I'm  keen,  I'm  squar'." 

Soon  after  this  he  led  Robert  to  his  cabin,  and 
Robert  drew  a  large  map  from  his  models ;  and 
Fullalove,  being  himself  an  excellent  draughts- 
man, and  provided  with  proper  instruments, 
aided  him  to  finish  it. 

Next  day  they  sighted  Valparaiso,  and  hove 
to  outside  the  port. 

All  the  specimens  of  insular  wealth  were  put 
on  board  the  schooner  and  secreted ;  for  Fulla- 


love's  first  move  was  to  get  a  lease  of  the  island 
from  the  Chilian  government,  and  it  was  no 
part  of  his  plan  to  trumpet  the  article  he  was 
going  to  buy. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  declined  to 
take  the  seven  pounds  of  silver.  He  gave  as  a 
reason,  that,  having  made  a  bargain  which  com- 
pelled him  to  go  to  Valparaiso  at  once,  he  did 
not  feel  like  charging  his  partner  a  fancy  price 
for  towing  his  boat  thither.  At  the  same  time 
he  hinted  that,  after  all  this,  the  next  customer 
would  find  him  a  very  difficult  Yankee  to  get 
the  better  of. 

With  this  understanding,  he  gave  Robert  a 
draft  for  £80  on  account  of  profits;  and  this 
enabled  him  to  take  a  passage  for  England  with 
all  his  belongings. 

He  arrived  at  Southampton  very  soon  after 
the  events  last  related,  and  thence  went  to  Lon- 
don, fully  alive  to  the  danger  of  his  position. 

He  had  a  friend  in  his  long  beard,  but  he 
dared  not  rely  on  that  alone.  Like  a  mole,  he 
worked  at  night. 


CHAPTER  LXVL 

Helen  asked  Arthur  Wardlaw  why  he  was  so 
surprised  at  the  prayer-book  being  brought  back. 
Was  it  worth  twenty  pounds  to  any  one  except 
herself? 

Arthur  looked  keenly  at  her  to  see  whether  she 
intended  more  than  met  the  ear,  and  then  said 
that  he  was  surprised  at  the  rapid  effect  of  his 
advertisement,  that  was  all. 

"Now  you  have  got  the  book,"  said  he,  "I 
do  hope  you  will  erase  that  cruel  slander  on  one 
whom  you  mean  to  honor  with  your  hand." 

This  proposal  made  Helen  blush,  and  feel  very 
miserable.  Of  the  obnoxious  lines  some  were 
written  by  Robert  Penfold,  and  she  had  so  little 
of  his  dear  handwriting.  "  I  feel  you  are  right, 
Arthur,"  said  she  ;  "but  you  must  give  me  time. 
Then,  they  shall  meet  no  eye  but  mine  ;  and  on 
our  wedding-day — of  course — all  memorials  of 
one — "     Tears  completed  the  sentence. 

Arthur  Wardlaw,  raging  with  jealousy  at  the 
absent  Penfold,  as  heretofore  Penfold  had  raged 
at  him,  heaved  a  deep  sigh  and  hurried  away, 
while  Helen  was  locking  up  the  prayer-book  in 
her  desk.  By  this  means  he  retained  Helen's 
pity. 

He  went  home  directly,  mounted  to  his  bed- 
room, unlocked  a  safe,  and  plunged  his  hand  into 
it.  His  hand  encountered  a  book ;  he  drew  it 
out  with  a  shiver,  and  gazed  at  it  with  terror 
and  amazement. 

It  was  the  prayer-book  he  had  picked  up  in 
the  Square  and  locked  up  in  that  safe.  Yet  that 
very  prayer-book  had  been  restored  to  Helen  be- 
fore his  eyes,  and  Avas  now  locked  up  in  her  desk. 
He  sat  down  with  the  book  in  his  hand,  and  a 
great  dread  came  over  him. 

Hitherto  Candor  and  Credulity  only  had  been 
opposed  to  him,  but  now  Cunning  had  entered 
the  field  against  him  :  a  master-hand  was  co- 
operating with  Helen. 

Yet  strange  to  say,  she  seemed  unconscious  of 
that  co-operation.  Had  Robert  Penfold  found 
his  way  home  by  some  strange  means?  Was 
he  watching  over  her  in  secret. 


140 


FOUL  PLAY. 


He  had  the  woman  he  loved  watched  night 
and  day,  but  no  Robert  Penfold  was  detected. 

He  puzzled  his  brain  night  and  day,  and  at 
last  he  conceived  a  plan  of  deceit  which  is  com- 
mon enough  in  the  East,  where  Lying  is  one  of 
the  fine  arts,  but  was  new  in  this  country,  we  be- 
lieve, and  we  hope  to  Heaven  we  shall  not  be 
the  means  of  importing  it. 

An  old  clerk  of  his  father's,  now  superannua- 
ted and  pensioned  off,  had  a  son  upon  the  stage, 
in  a  very  mean  position.  Once  a  year,  however, 
and  of  course  in  the  dog-days,  he  had  a  kind  of 
benefit  at  his  suburban  theatre ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  manager  allowed  him  to  sell  tickets,  and  take 
half  the  price  of  them.  He  persuaded  Arthur 
to  take  some,  and  even  to  go  to  the  theatre  for 
an  hour.  The  man  played  a  little  part,  of  a  pomp- 
ons sneak  with  some  approach  to  Nature.  He 
seemed  at  home. 

Arthur  found  this  man  out ;  visited  him  at  his 
own  place.  He  was  very  poor,  and  mingled 
pomposity  with  obsequiousness,  so  that  Arthur 
felt  convinced  he  was  to  be  bought,  body  and 
soul,  what,  there  was  of  him. 

He  sounded  him  accordingly,  and  the  result 
was  that  the  man  agreed  to  perform  a  part  for 
him. 

Arthur  wrote  it,  and  they  rehearsed  it  togeth- 
er. As  to  the  dialogue,  that  was  so  constructed 
that  it  could  be  varied  considerably  according  to 
the  cues,  which  could  be  foreseen  to  a  certain 
extent  ;  but  not  precisely,  since  they  were  to  be 
given  by  Helen  Rolleston,  who  was  not  in  the 
secret. 

But  whilst  this  plot  was  fermenting,  other 
events  happened,  with  rather  a  contrary  tenden- 
cy ;  and  these  will  be  more  intelligible  if  we  go 
back  to  Nancy  Rouse's  cottage,  where  indeed 
we  have  kept  Joseph  Wylie  in  an  uncomfortable 
position  a  very  long  time. 

Mrs.  James,  from  next  door,  was  at  last  ad- 
mitted into  Nancy's  kitchen,  and  her  first  word 
was,  "  I  suppose  you  know  what  I'm  come  about, 
ma'am." 

"Which  it  is  to  return  me  the  sass-pan  you 
borrowed,  no  doubt,"  was  Nancy's  ingenuous  re- 

PLV- 

"No,  ma'am.  But  I'll  send  my  girl  in  with 
it,  as  soon  as  she  have  cleaned  it,  vou  may  de- 
pend." 

"Thank  ye,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  it  again." 

"You're  not  afcared  I  shall  steal  it,  I  hope." 

"  La,  bless  the  woman !  don't  fly  out  at  a  body 
like  that.  I  can't  afford  to  give  away  my  sass- 
pan." 

"  Sass-pans  is  not  in  my  head." 

"Nor  in  your  hand  neither." 

"I'm  come  about  my  lodger ;  a  most  respect- 
able gentleman,  which  he  have  met  with  an  ac- 
cident. He  did  but  go  to  put  something  away 
in  the  chimbley,  which  he  is  a  curious  gent,  and 
has  travelled  a  good  deal,  and  learned  the  for- 
eign customs,  when  his  hand  was  caught  in  the 
brick-work,  somehows,  and  there  he  is  hard  and 
fast." 

"Do  you  know  any  thing  about  this?"  said 
Nancy  to  the  mite,  severely. 

"  No,"  said  the  mite,  with  a  countenance  of 
polished  granite. 

"La,  bless  me  !"  said  Nancy,  with  a  sudden 
start.  "Why  is  she  talking  about  the  thief  as 
you  and  I  catched  putting  his  hand  through  the 


wall  into  my  room,  and  made  him  fast  again  the 
policeman  comes  round  ?" 

"  Thief!"  cried  Mrs.  James :  "  no  more  a  thief 
than  I  am.  Why,  sure  you  wouldn't  ever  be 
so  cruel !  Oh  dear !  oh  dear  !  spite  goes  a  far 
length.  There,  take  an'  kill  me,  do,  and  then 
you'll  be  easy  in  your  mind.  Ah,  little  my  pool- 
father  thought  as  ever  I  should  come  clown  to 
letting  lodgings,  and  being  maltreated  this  way  ! 
I  am—" 

"  Who  is  a  maltreating  of  ye  ?  Why,  you're 
dreaming.     Have  a  drop  o'  gin?" 

"  With  them  as  takes  the  police  to  my  lodger  ? 
It  would  choke  me  !" 

"Well,  have  a  drop,  and  we'll  see  abouit  it." 

"  You're  very  kind,  ma'am,  I'm  sure.  Heav- 
en knows  I  need  it !  Here's  wishing  you  a  good 
husband;  and  towards  burying  all  unkindness." 

"  Which  you  means  drounding  of  it." 

"  Ah,  you're  never  at  a  loss  for  a  word,  ma'am, 
and  always  in  good  spirits.  But  your  troubles 
is  to  come,  7'm  a  widdy.  You  will  let  me  see 
what  is  the  matter  with  my  lodger,  ma'am  ?" 

"Why  not?  We'll  go  and  have  a  look  at 
him." 

Accordingly,  the  three  women  and  the  tnite 
proceeded  to  the  little  room  ;  Nancy  turned  the 
gas  on,  and  then  they  inspected  the  imprisoned 
hand.  Mrs.  James  screamed  with  dismay,  and 
Nancy  asked  her  dryly  whether  she  was  to  blame 
for  seizing  a  hand  which  had  committed  a  man- 
ifest trespass. 

"  You  have  got  the  rest  of  his  body,"  said  she, 
"  but  this  here  hand  belongs  to  me." 

"  Lord,  ma'am,  what  could  he  take  out  of  your 
chimbley,  without'  twas  a  handful  of  soot  ?  Do,, 
pray,  let  me  loose  him." 

"Not  till  I  have  said  two  words  to  him." 

"  But  how  can  you  ?  He  isn't  here  to  speak 
to,  only  a  morsel  of  him." 

"  I  can  go  into  your  house  and  speak  to  him." 

Mrs.  James  demurred  to  that;  but  Nancy 
stood  firm ;  Mrs  James  yielded.  Nancy  whis- 
pered her  myrmidons,  and  in  a  few  minutes  was 
standing  by  the  prisoner,  a  reverend  person  in 
dark  spectacles,  and  a  gray  beard,  that  created 
commiseration,  or  would  have  done  so,  but  that 
this  stroke  of  ill-fortune  had  apparently  fallen 
upon  a  great  philosopher.  He  had  contrived  to 
get  a  seat  under  him,  and  was  smoking  a  pipe 
with  admirable,  sang  froid. 

At  sight  of  Nancy,  however,  he  made  a  slight 
motion,  as  if  he  would  not  object  to  follow  his 
imprisoned  hand  through  the  party  wall.  It  was 
only  for  a  moment;  the  next,  he  smoked  imper- 
turbably. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Nancy,  "I  hopes  you  are 
comfortable  ?" 

"Thank  ye,  miss;  yes.  I'm  at  a  double 
sheet-anchor." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  miss?" 

"I  don't  know.  Because  you  are  so  young 
and  pretty." 

"That  will  do.  I  only  wanted  to  hear  the 
sound  of  your  voice,  Joe  Wylie."  And  with  the 
word  she  snatched  his  wig  off  with  one  hand, 
and  his  beard  with  the  other,  and  revealed  his 
true  features  to  his  astonished  landlady. 

"There,  mum,"  said  she,  "  I  wish  you  joy  of 
your  lodger."  She  tapped  the  chimney  three 
times  with  the  poker,  and,  telling  Mr.  Wylie 
she  had  a  few  words  to  say  to  him  in  private, 


FOUL  PLAY. 


HI 


retired  for  the  present.  Mrs.  James  sat  down 
and  mourned  the  wickedness  of  mankind,  the 
loss  of  her  lodger  (who  would  now  go  bodily 
.  next  door  instead  of  sending  his  hand),  and  the 
better  days  she  had  by  iteration  brought  herself 
to  believe  she  had  seen. 

Wylie  soon  entered  Nancy's  house,  and  her 
first  question  was,  "The  £2000,  how  did  you 
get  them  ?" 

"No  matter  how  I  got  them,"  said  Wylie, 
sulkily.     "  What  have  you  done  with  them  ?" 

"Put  them  away." 

"  That  is  all  right.  I'm  blest  if  I  didn't  think 
they  were  gone  forever." 

"I  wish  they  had  never  come.  Ill-gotten 
money  is  a  curse."  Then  she  taxed  him  with 
scuttling  the  Proserpine,  and  asked  him  whether 
that  money  had  not  been  the  bribe.  But  Joe 
was  obdurate.  "  I  never  split  on  a  friend,"  said 
he.  "  And  you  have  nobody  to  blame  but  your- 
self; you  wouldn't  splice  without  £2000.  I  loved 
you,  and  I  got  it  how  I  could.  D'ye  think  a 
poor  fellow  like  me  can  make  £2000  in  a  voy- 
age by  hauling  in  ropes,  and  tying  true-lovers' 
knots  in  the  foretop?" 

Nancy  had  her  answer  ready;  but  this  re- 
membrance pricked  her  own  conscience  and 
paved  the  way  to  a  reconciliation.  Nancy  had 
no  high-flown  notions.  She  loved  money,  but 
it  must  be  got  without  palpable  dishonesty ;  per 
contra,  she  was  not  going  to  denounce  her  sweet- 
heart, but  then  again  she  would  not  marry  him 
so  long  as  he  differed  with  her  about  the  mean- 
ing of  the  eighth  commandment. 

This  led  to  many  arguments,  some  of  them 
warm,  some  affectionate  ;  and  so  we  leave  Mr. 
Wylie  under  the  slow  but  salutary  influence  of 
love  and  unpretending  probity.  He  continued 
to  lodge  next  door.  Nancy  would  only  receive 
him  as  a  visitor. 


CHAPTER  LXVII. 

Helen  had  complained  to  Arthur,  of  all  peo- 
ple, that  she  was  watched  and  followed ;  she 
even  asked  him  whether  that  was  not  the  act  of 
some  enemy.  Arthur  smiled,  and  said  :  "Take 
my  woi'd  for  it,  it  is  only  some  foolish  admirer  of 
your  beauty  ;  he  wants  to  know  your  habits,  in 
hopes  of  falling  in  with  you  ;  you  had  better  let 
me  go  out  with  you  for  the  next  month  or  so ; 
that  sort  of  thing  will  soon  die  away." 

As  a  necessary  consequence  of  this  injudicious 
revelation,  Helen  was  watched  with  greater 
skill  and  subtlety,  and  upon  a  plan  well  calcula- 
ted to  disarm  suspicion ;  a  spy  watched  the 
door,  and  by  a  signal  unintelligible  to  any  but 
his  confederate,  whom  Helen  could  not  possibly 
see,  set  the  latter  on  her  track.  They  kept  this 
game  up  unobserved  for  several  days,* but  learn- 
ed nothing,  for  Helen  was  at  a  stand-still.  At 
last  they  got  caught,  and  by  a  truly  feminine 
stroke  of  observation.  A  showily  dressed  man 
peeped  into  a  shop  where  Helen  was  buying 
gloves. 

With  one  glance  of  her  woman's  eye  she  rec- 
ognized a  large  breastpin  in  the  worst  possible 
taste  ;  thence  her  eye  went  up  and  recognized 
the  features  of  her  seedy  follower,  though  he  was 
now  dressed  up  to  the  nine.     She  withdrew  her 


eye  directly,  completed  her  purchase,  and  \vnt 
home,  brooding  defense  and  vengeance. 

That  evening  she  dined  with  a  lady  who  had 
a  large  acquaintance  with  lawyers,  and  it  so 
happened  that  Mr.  Tollemache  and  Mr.  Hen- 
nessy  were  both  of  the  party.  Now,  when 
these  gentlemen  saw  Helen  in  full  costume,  a 
queen  in  form  as  well  as  face,  coroneted  with 
her  island  pearls,  environed  with  a  halo  of  ro- 
mance, and  courted  by  women  as  well  as  men, 
they  looked  up  to  her  with  astonishment,  and 
made  up  to  her  in  a  very  different  style  from 
that  in  which  they  had  received  her  visit.  Tol- 
lemache she  received  coldly ;  he  had  defended 
Robert  Penfold  feebly,  and  she  hated  him  for  it. 
Hennessy  she  received  graciously,  and,  remem- 
bering Robert's  precept  to  be  supple  as  a  wom- 
an, bewitched  him.  He  was  good-natured,  able, 
and  vain.  By  eleven  o'clock  she  had  enlisted 
him  inJier  service.  When  she  had  conquered 
him,  she  said,  slyly,  "But  I  ought  not  to  speak  of 
these  things  to  you  except  through  a  solicitor." 

"That  is  the  general  rule,"  said  the  learned 
counsel;  "but  in  this  case  no  dark  body  must 
come  between  me  and  the  sun." 

In  short,  he  entered  into  Penfold's  case  with 
such  well-feigned  warmth,  to  please  the  beaute- 
ous girl,  that  at  last  she  took  him  by  the  horns 
and  consulted. 

"I  am  followed,"  said  she. 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  are;  and  on  a  large 
scale ;  if  there  is  room  for  another,  I  should  be 
glad  to  join  the  train." 

"  Ha  !  ha !  I'll  save  you  the  trouble.  I'll 
meet  you  half-way.  But,  to  be  serious,  I  am 
watched,  spied,  and  followed  by  some  enemy  to 
that  good  friend  whose  sacred  cause  we  have 
undertaken.      Forgive  me  for  saying  'we.'" 

"  I  am  too  proud  of  the  companionship  to  let 
you  off.     'We' is  the  word." 

"Then  advise  me  what  to  do.  I  want  to  re- 
taliate. I  want  to  discover  who  is  watching  me, 
and  why.     Can  you  advise  me?     Will  you?" 

The  counsel  reflected  a  moment,  and  Helen, 
who  watched  him,  remarked  the  power  that  sud- 
denly came  into  his  countenance  and  brow. 

"  You  must  watch  the  spies.  I  have  influ- 
ence in  Scotland  Yard,  and  will  get  it  done  for 
you.  If  you  went  there  yourself,  they  would 
cross-examine  you  and  decline  to  interfere.  I'll 
go  myself  for  you  and  put  it  in  a  certain  light. 
An  able  detective  will  call  on  you:  give  him 
ten  guineas,  and  let  him  into  your  views  in  con- 
fidence ;  then  he  will  work  the  public  machinery 
for  you." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hennessy,  how  can  I  thank  you?" 

"  By  succeeding.  I  hate  to  fail :  and  now 
your  cause  is  mine." 

Next  day  a  man  with  a  hooked  nose,  a  keen 
black  eye,  and  a  solitary  foible  (Mosaic),  called 
on  Helen  Rolleston,  and  told  her  he  was  to  take 
her  instructions.  She  told  him  she  was  watch- 
ed, and  thought  it  was  done  to  barfle  a  mission 
she  had  undertaken  ;  but,  having  got  so  far,  she 
blushed  and  hesitated. 

"The  more  you  tell  me,  miss,  the  more  use  I 
can  be,"  said  Mr.  Burt. 

Thus  encouraged,  and  also  remembering  Mr. 
Hennessy's  advice,  she  gave  Mr.  Burt,  as  coldly 
as  she  could,  an  outline  of  Robert  Penfold's  case, 
and  of  the  exertions  she  had  made,  and  the 
small  result. 


142 


FOUL  PLAY. 


Burt  listened  keenly,  and  took  a  note  or  two ; 
and,  when  she  had  done,  he  told  her  something 
in  return. 

"Miss  Rolleston,"  said  he,  "I  am  the  officer 
that  arrested  Robert  Penfold.  It  cost  me  a 
grinder  that  he  knocked  out." 

"Oh,  dear!"  said  Helen,  "  how  unfortunate! 
Then  I  fear  I  can  not  reckon  on  your  services." 

"Why  not,  miss?  What,  do  you  think  I 
hold  spite  against  a  poor  fellow  for  defending 
himself?  Besides,  Mr.  Penfold  wrote  me  a 
very  proper  note.  Certainly  for  a  parson  the 
gent  is  a  very  quick  hitter ;  but  he  wrote  very 
square ;  said  he  hoped  I  would  allow  for  the  sur- 
prise and  the  agitation  of  an  innocent  man ; 
sent  me  two  guineas  too,  and  said  he  would 
make  it  twenty  but  he  was  poor  as  well  as  un- 
fortunate; that  letter  has  stuck  in  my  gizzard 
ever  since ;  can't  see  the  color  of  felony  in  it. 
Your  felon  is  never  in  a  fault ;  and,  if  he  wears 
a  good  coat,  he  isn't  given  to  show  fight. 

"It  was  very  improper  of  him  to  strike  you," 
said  Helen,  "  and  very  noble  of  you  to  forgive 
it.  Make  him  stiil  more  ashamed  of  it ;  lay  him 
under  a  deep  obligation." 

"If  he  is  innocent,  I'll  try  and  prove  it,"  said 
the  detective.  He  then  asked  her  if  she  had 
taken  notes.  She  said  she  had  a  diary.  He 
begged  to  see  it.  She  felt  inclined  to  withhold 
it,  because  of  the  comments  ;  but,  remembering 
that  this  was  womanish,  and  that  Robert's  orders 
to  her  were  to  be  manly  on  such  occasions,  she 
produced  her  diary.  Mr.  Burt  read  it  very  care- 
fully, and  told  her  it  was  a  very  promising  case. 
"You  have  done  a  great  deal  more  than  you 
thought,"  he  said.     "  You  have  netted  the  *ish." 


CHAPTER  LXVIII. 

"  I !  netted  the  fish  !  what  fish  ?" 

"The  man  who  forged  the  promissory  note." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Burt  !" 

"The  same  man  that  forged  the  newspaper 
extracts  to  deceive  you  forged  the  promissory 
note  years  ago,  and  the  man  who  is  setting  spies 
on  you  is  the  man  who  forged  those  extracts ;  so 
we  are  sure  to  nail  him.  He  is  in  the  net ;  and 
very  much  to  your  credit.  Leave  the  rest  to  me, 
I'll  tell  you  more  about  it  to-morrow.  You  must 
order  your  carriage  at  one  o'clock  to-morrow  and 
drive  down  to  Scotland  Yard  ;  go  into  the  yard, 
and  you  will  see  me  ;  follow  me  without  a  word. 
When  you  go  back,  the  other  spies  will  be  so 
frightened,  they  will  go  off  to  their  employer,  and 
so  we  shall  nail  him." 

Helen  complied  with  these  instructions  strictW, 
and  then  returned  home,  leaving  Mr.  Burt  to 
work.  She  had  been  home  about  half  an  hour, 
when  the  servant  brought  her  up  a  message  say- 
ing that  a  man  wanted  to  speak  to  her.  "Ad- 
mit him,"  said  Helen.  "  He  is  dressed  very  poor, 
miss."  "Nevermind;  send  him  to  me."  She 
was  afraid  to  reject  any  body  now,  lest  she  might 
turn  her  back  on  information. 

A  man  presented  himself  in  well-worn  clothes, 
with  a  wash-leather  face  and  close-shaven  chin  ; 
a  little  of  his  forehead  was  also  shaven.  li  Mad- 
am, my  name  is  Hand."  Helen  started.  "I 
have  already  had  the  honor  of  writing  to  you." 


"Yes,  sir,"  said  Helen,  eying  him  with  fear 
and  aversion. 

"Madam,  I  am  come  " — (he  hesitated)  — "I 
am  an  unfortunate  man. •  Weighed  down  byre- 
morse  for  a  thoughtless  act  that  has  ruined  an 
innocent  man,  and  nearly  cost  my  worthy  em- 
ployer his  life,  I  come  to  expiate  as  far  as  in  me 
lies.  But  let  me  be  brief,  and  hurry  over  the 
tale  of  shame.  I  was  a  clerk  at  Wardlaw's  office. 
A  bill-broker  called  Adams  was  talking  to  me 
and  my  fellow-clerks,  and  boasting  that  nobody 
could  take  him  in  with  a  feigned  signature.  Bets 
were  laid  ;  our  vanity  was  irritated  by  his  preten- 
sion. It  was  my  fortune  to  overhear  my  young 
master  and  his  friend  Robert  Penfold  speak  about 
a  loan  of  two  thousand  pounds.  In  an  evil  hour 
I  listened  to  the  tempter,  and  wrote  a  forged  note 
for  that  amount.  I  took  it  to  Mr.  Penfold  ;  he 
presented  it  to  Adams,  and  it  was  cashed.  I  in- 
tended, of  course,  to  call  next  day,  and  tell  Mr. 
Penfold,  and  take  him  to  Adams,  and  restore  the 
money,  and  get  back  the  note.  It  was  not  due 
for  three  months.  Alas !  that  very  day  it  fell 
under  suspicion.  Mr.  Penfold  was  arrested. 
My  young  master  was  struck  down  with  illness 
at  his  friend's  guilt,  though  he  never  could  be 
quite  got  to  believe  it;  and  I —  miserable  cow- 
ard ! —  dared  not  tell  the  truth.  Ever  since 
that  day  I  have  been  a  miserable  man.  The 
other  day  I  came  into  money,  and  left  Wardlaw's 
service.  But  I  carry  my  remorse  with  me. 
Madam,  I  am  come  to  tell  the  truth.  I  dare 
not  tell  it  to  Mr.  Wardlaw  ;  I  think  he  would 
kill  me.  But  I  will  tell  it  to  you,  and  you  can 
tell  it  to  him ;  ay,  tell  it  to  all  the  world.  Let 
my  shame  be  as  public  as  his  whom  I  have  injur- 
ed so  deeply  but,  Heaven  knows,  unintentionallv. 
I_I_ I__»   • 

Mr.  Hand  sank  all  in  aheap  where  he  sat,  and 
could  say  no  more. 

Helen's  flesh  crawled  at  this  confession,  and  at 
the  sight  of  this  reptile  who  owned  that  he  had 
destroyed  Robert  Penfold  in  fear  and  cowardice. 
For  a  long  time  her  wrath  so  overpowered  all 
sense  of  pity,  that  she  sat  trembling  ;  and,  if  eyes 
could  kill,  Mr.  Hand  would  not  have  outlived  his 
confession. 

At  last  she  contrived  to  speak.  She  turned 
her  head  away  not  to  see  the  wretch,  and  said, 
sternly, — 

"Are  you  prepared  to  make  this  statement  on 
paper,  if  called  on  ?" 

Mr.  Hand  hesitated,  but  said  "Yes." 

"  Then  write  down  that  Robert  Penfold  was 
innocent,  and  you  are  ready  to  prove  it  whenever 
you  may  be  called  upon." 

"Write  that  down?"  said  Hand. 

"  Unless  your  penitence  is  feigned,  you  will." 

"  Sooner  than  that  should  be  added  to  my  crime 
I  will  avow  all."  He  wrote  the  few  lines  she  re- 
quired. 

"  Now  your  address,  that  I  may  know  where 
to  find  vou  at  a  moment's  notice."  He  wrote, 
"J.  Hand,  11  Warwick  Street,  Pimlico." 

Helen  then  dismissed  him,  and  wept  bitterly. 
In  that  condition  she  was  found  by  Arthur  Ward- 
law,  who  comforted  her,  and,  on  hearing  her  re- 
port of  Hand's  confession,  burst  out  into  triumph, 
and  reminded  her  he  had  always  said  Robert 
Penfold  was  innocent.  "My  father,"  said  he, 
"  must  yield  to  this  evidence,  and  we  will  lay  it 
before  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  get  his  pardon." 


FOUL  PLAY. 


143 


M  His  pardon  !  when  he  is  innocent !" 

"  Oh,  that  is  the  form— the  only  form.  The 
rest  must  be  done  by  the  warm  reception  of  his 
friends.  I,  for  one,  who  all  these  years  have 
maintained  his  innocence,  will  be  the  first  to  wel- 
come him  to  my  house  an  honored  guest.  What 
am  I  saying  ?  Can  I  ?  dare  I  ?  ought  I  ?  when 
my  wife —  Ah !  I  am  more  to  be  pitied  than 
my  poor  friend  is  ;  my  friend,  my  rival.  Well, 
I  leave  it  to  you  whether  he  can  come  into  your 
husband's  house." 

"Never." 

"  But  at  least,  I  can  send  the  Springbok  out, 
and  bring  him  home ;  and  that  I  will  do  with- 
out one  day's  delay." 

"  Oh,  Arthur  !"  cried  Helen,  "  you  set  me  an 
example  of  unselfishness." 

"I  do  what  I.  can,  said  Arthur.  "I  am  no 
saint.     I  hope  for  a  reward." 

Helen  sighed.     "What  shall  I  do ?" 

"  Have  pity  on  me  !  your  faithful  lover,  and  to 
whom  your  faith  was  plighted  before  ever  you 
saw  or  knew  my  unhappy  friend.  What  can  I 
do  or  suffer  more  than  I  have  done  and  suffered 
for  you  ?  My  sweet  Helen,  have  pity  on  me,  and 
be  my  wife." 

"  I  will ;  some  day." 

"Bless  you;  bless  you.  One  effort  more; 
what  day  ?" 

"I  can't.     I  can't.     My  heart  is  dead." 

"  This  day  fortnight.  Let  me  speak  to  your 
father  ;  let  him  name  the  day." 

As  she  made  no  reply,  he  kissed  her  hand  de- 
votedly, and  did  speak  to  her  father.  Sir  Ed- 
ward, meaning  all  for  the  best,  said,  "  This  day 
fortnight." 


CHAPTER  LXIX. 

The  next  morning  came  the  first  wedding 
presents  from  the  jubilant  bridegroom,  who  was 
determined  to  advance  step  by  step,  and  give  no 
breathing  time.  When  Helen  saw  them  laid 
out  by  her  maid,  she  trembled  at  the  conse- 
quences of  not  giving  a  plump  negative  to  so 
brisk  a  wooer. 

The  second  post  brought  two  letters ;  one  of 
them  from  Mrs.  Undercliff.  The  other  contain- 
ed no  words,  but  only  a  pearl  of  uncommon 
size,  and  pear-shaped.  Helen  received  this  at 
first  as  another  wedding  present,  and  an  attempt 
on  Arthur's  part  to  give  her  a  pearl  as  large  as 
those  she  had  gathered  on  her  dear  island.  But, 
looking  narrowly  at  the  address,  she  saw  it  was 
not  written  by  Arthur  ;  and,  pi*esently,  she  was 
struck  by  the  likeness  of  this  pearl  in  shape  to 
some  of  her  own.  She  got  out  her  pearls,  laid 
them  side  by  side,  and  began  to  be  moved  ex- 
ceedingly. She  had  one  of  her  instincts,  and  it 
set  every  fibre  quivering  with  excitement.  It 
was  some  time  before  she  could  take  her  eyes 
off  the  pearls,  and  it  was  with  a  trembling  hand 
she  opened  Mrs.  UnderclifFs  letter.  That  mis- 
sive was  not  calculated  to  calm  her.  It  ran 
thus : 

"  My  dear  young  lady  : — A  person  called 
here  last  night  and  supplied  the  clue.  If  you 
have  the  courage  to  know  the  truth,  you  have 
only  to  come  here,  and  to  bring  your  diary,  and 


all  the  letters  you  have  received  from  any  per- 
son or  persons  since  you  landed  in  England.  I 
am  yours  obediently, 

"Jane  Undercliff." 

The  courage  to  know  the  truth  ! 

This  mysterious  sentence  affected  Helen  con- 
siderably. But  her  faith  in  Robert  was  too  great 
to  be  shaken.  She  would  not  wait  for  the  can- 
onical hour  at  which  young  ladies  go  out,  but 
put  on  her  bonnet  directly  after  breakfast.  Ear- 
ly as  she  was,  a  visitor  came  before  she  could 
start, — Mr.  Burt,  the  detective.  She  received 
him  in  the  library. 

Mr.  Burt  looked  at  her  dress  and  her  little 
bag,  and  said,  "  I'm  very  glad  I  made  bold  to 
call  so  early. " 

"  You  have  got  information  of  importance  to 
communicate  to  me  ?" 

"  I  think  so,  miss,"  and  he  took  out  his  note- 
book. "  The  person  yot»  are  watched  by  is  Mr. 
Arthur  Wardlavv."  The  girl  stared  at  him. 
"Both  spies  report  to  him  twice  a  day  at  his 
house  in  Russell  Square." 

"  Be  careful,  Mr.  Burt ;  this  is  a  serious  thing 
to  say,  and  may  have  serious  consequences." 

"  Well,  miss,  you  told  me  you  wanted  to  know 
the  truth." 

"  Of  course  I  want  to  know  the  truth." 

"Then  the  truth  is  that  you  are  watched  by 
order  of  Mr.  Wardlaw." 

Burt  continued  his  report. 

"A  shabby-like  man  called  on  you  yester- 
day." 

"Yes;  it  was  Mr.  Hand,  Mr.  Wardlaw's  clerk. 
And  oh,  Mr.  Burt,  that  wretched  creature  came 
and  confessed  the  truth.  It  was  he  who  forged 
the  note,  out  of  sport,  and  for  a  bet,  and  then 
was  too  cowardly  to  own  it."  She  then  detailed 
Hand's  confession. 

"  His  penitence  comes  too  late,"  said  she,  with 
a  deep  sigh. 

" It  hasn't  come  yet, " said  Burt,  dryly.  "Of 
course  my  lambs  followed  the  man.  He  went 
first  to  his  employer,  and  then  he  went  home. 
His  name  is  not  Hand.  He  is  not  a  clerk  at  all, 
but  a  little  actor  at  the  Corinthian  Saloon. 
Hand  is  in  America ;  went  three  months  ago. 
I  ascertained  that  from  another  qnarter." 

"Oh  goodness!"  cried  Helen,  "what  a  wretch- 
ed world  !  I  can't  see  my  way  a  yard  for  stories." 

"  How  should  you,  miss  ?  It  is  clear  enough, 
for  all  that.  Mr.  Wardlaw  hired  this  actor  to 
pass  for  Hand,  and  tell  you  a  lie  that  he  thought 
would  please  you." 

Helen  put  her  hand  to  her  brow,  and  thought  ; 
but  her  candid  soul  got  sadly  in  the  way  of  her 
brain.  "Mr.  Burt,"  said  she,  "will  you  go 
with  me  to  Mr.  Undercliff  the  expert?" 

"  With  pleasure,  ma'am ;  but  let  me  finish  my 
report.  Last  night  there  was  something  new. 
Your  house  was  watched  by  six  persons.  Two 
were  Wardlaw's,  three  were  Burt's ;  but  the  odd 
man  was  there  on  his  own  hook ;  and  my  men 
could  not  make  him  out  at  all ;  but  they  think 
one  of  Wardlaw's  men  knew  him ;  for  he  went 
off  to  Russell  Square  like  the  wind,  and  brought 
Mr.  Wardlaw  here  in  disguise.  Now,  miss,  that 
is  all ;  and  shall  I  call  a  cab,  and  we'll  hear 
Undercliff 's  tale  ?" 

The  cab  was  called,  and  they  went  to  Under- 
cliff.    On  the  way  Helen  brooded ;  but  the  de- 


144 


FOUL  PLAY. 


tective  eyed  every  man  and  every  thing  on  the 
road  with  the  utmost  keenness. 

Edward  Undercliff  was  at  work  at  lithograph- 
ing. He  received  Helen  cordially,  nodded  to 
Burt,  and  said  s.he  could  not  have  a  better  assist- 
ant. 

He  then  laid  his  fac-simile  of  the  forged  note 
on  the  table,  with  John  Wardlaw's  genuine 
writing  and  Penfold's  indorsement.  "Look  at 
that,  Mr.  Burt." 

Burt  inspected  the  papers  keenly. 

"  You  know,  Burt,  I  swore  at  Robert  Penfold's 
trial  that  he  never  wrote  that  forged  note. " 

"I  remember,"  said  Burt. 

"  The  other  day  this  lady  instructed  me  to 
discover,  if  I  could,  who  did  write  the  forged 
note.  But,  unfortunately,  the  materials  she  gave 
me  were  not  sufficient.  But,  last  night,  a  young 
man  dropped  from  the  clouds,  that  I  made  sure 
was  an  agent  of  yours,  Miss  Rolleston.  Under 
that  impression  I  was»rather  unguarded,  and  I 
let  him  know  how  far  we  had  got,  and  could  get 
no  farther.  '  I  think  I  can  help  you,'  says  this 
young  man,  and  puts  a  letter  on  the  table.  Well, 
Mr.  Burt,  a  glance  at  that  letter  was  enough  for 
me.  It  was  written  by  the  man  who  forged  the 
note." 

"A  letter!"  said  Helen. 

"  Yes.  I'll  put  the  letter  by  the  side  of  the 
forged  note  ;  and,  if  you  have  any  eye  for  writ- 
ing at  all,  you'll  see  at  once  that  one  hand  wrote 
the  forged  note  and  this  letter.  I  am  also  pre- 
pared to  swear  that  the  letters  signed  Hand  are 
forgeries  by  the  same  person."  He  then  coolly 
put  upon  the  table  the  letter  from  Arthur  Ward- 
law  that  Helen  had  received  on  board  the  Pros- 
erpine, and  was  proceeding  to  point  out  the 
many  points  of  resemblance  between  the  letter 
and  the  document,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  a 
scream  from  Helen. 

"Ah!"  she  cried,  "he  is  here.  Only  one 
man  in  the  world  could  have  brought  that  letter. 
I  left  it  on  the  island.  Robert  is  here:  he  gave 
you  that  letter." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  expert,  "  and  what 
a  fool  I  must  be !  I  have  no  eye  except  for 
handwriting.  He  had  a  beard :  and  such  a 
beard !" 

"It  is  Robert!"  cried  Helen,  in  raptures. 
"He  is  come  just  in  time." 

1 *  In  time  to  be  arrested, "  said  Burt.  ' '  Why, 
his  time  is  not  out.    He'll  get  into  trouble  again." 

"  Oh,  Heaven  forbid!"  cried  Helen,  and  turn- 
ed so  faint  she  had  to  be  laid  back  on  a  chair, 
and  salts  applied  to  her  nostrils. 

She  soon  came  to,  and  cried  and  trembled,  but 
prepared  to  defend  her  Robert  with  all  a  wom- 
an's wit.  Burt  and  Undercliff  were  conversing 
in  a  low  voice,  and  Burt  was  saying  he  felt  sure 
Waldlaw's  spies  had  detected  Robert  Penfold, 
and  that  Robert  would  be  arrested  and  put  into 
prison  as  a  runaway  convict.  "Go  to  Scotland 
Yard  this  minute,  Mr.  Burt,"  said  Helen, eagerly. 

"What  for?" 

"Why,  you  must  take  the  commission  to  ar- 
rest him.     You  are  our  friend." 

Burt  slapped  his  thigh  with  delight. 

" That  is  first-rate,  miss,"  said  he :  "I'll  take 
the  real  felon  first,  you  may  depend.  Now, 
Mr.  Undercliff,  write  your  report,  and  hand  it  to 
Miss  Helen  with  fac-similes.  It  will  do  no  harm 
if  you  make  a  declaration  to  the  buiub  effect  be- 


.  fore  a  magistrate.  You,  Miss  Rolleston,  keep 
|  yourself  disengaged,  and  please  don't  go  out. 
You  will  very  likely  hear  from  me  again  to- 
day." 

He  drove  off,  and  Helen,  though  still  greatly 
agitated  by  Robert's  danger  and  the  sense  of  his 
presence,  now  sat  down,  trembling  a  little,  and 
compared  Arthur's  letter  with  the  forged  docu- 
ment. The  effect  of  this  comparison  was  irre- 
sistible. The  expert,  however,  asked  her  for 
some  letter  of  Arthur's  that  had  never  passed 
through  Robert  Penfold's  hands.  She  gave  him 
the  short  note  in  which  he  used  the  very  words, 
Robert  Penfold.  He  said  he  would  make  that 
note  the  basis  of  his  report. 

While  he  was  writing  it,  Mrs.  Undercliff  came 
in,  and  Helen  told  her  all.  She  said,  "  I  came 
to  the  same  conclusion  long  ago ;  but  when  you 
said  he  was  to  be  your  husband — " 

"Ah,"  said  Helen,  "we  women  are  poor  crea- 
tures ;  we  can  always  find  some  reason  for  run- 
ning away  from  the  .truth.  Now  explain  about 
the  prayer-book." 

"  Well,  miss,  I  felt  sure  he  would  steal  it,  so  I 
made  Ned  produce  a  fac-simile.  And  he  did 
steal  it.  What  you  got  back  was  your  mother's 
praver-book.     Of  course  I  took  care  of  that." 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Undercliff,"  cried  Helen,  "  do  let 
me  kiss  you." 

Then  they  had  a  nice  little  cry  together,  and, 
by  the  time  they  had  done,  the  report  was  ready 
in  duplicate. 

"  I'll  declare  this  before  a  magistrate,"  said 
the  expert,  "and  then  I'll  send  it  you." 

At  four  o'clock  of  this  eventful  day,  Helen  got 
a  message  from  Burt  to  say  that  he  had  orders 
to  arrest  Robert  Penfold,  and  that  she  must  wear 
a  mask,  and  ask  Mr.  Wardlaw  to  meet  her  at  old 
Mr.  Penfold's  at  nine  o'clock.  But  she  herself 
must  be  there  at  half  past  eight  without  fail,  and 
bring  Undercliff's  declaration  and  report  with 
her,  and  the  praj'er-book,  etc. 

Accordingly  Helen  went  down  to  old  Mr.  Pen- 
fold's  at  half  past  eight,  and  was  received  by 
Nancy  Rouse,  and  ushered  into  Mr.  Penfold's 
room  ;  that  is  to  say,  Nancy  held  the  door  open, 
and,  on  her  entering  the  room,  shut  it  sharply 
and  ran  down  stairs. 

Helen  entered  the  room ;  a  man  rose  directly, 
and  came  to  her ;  but  it  was  not  Michael  Pen- 
fold, — it  was  Robert.  A  faint  scream,  a  heaven- 
ly sigh,  and  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder,  and 
her  arm  round  his  neck,  and  both  their  hearts 
panting  as  they  gazed,  and  then  clung  to  each 
other,  and  then  gazed  again  with  love  unutter- 
able. After  a  while  they  got  sufficient  com- 
posure to  sit  down  hand  in  hand  and  compare 
notes.  And  Helen  showed  him  their  weapons 
of  defense,  the  prayer-book,  the  expert's  report, 
etc. 

A  discreet  tap  was  heard  at  the  door.  It  was 
Nancy  Rouse.  On  being  invited  to  enter,  she 
came  in  and  said,  "  Oh,  Miss  Helen,  I've  got  a 
penitent  outside,  which  he  done  it  for  love  of  me, 
and  now  he'll  make  a  clean  breast,  and  the  fault 
was  partly  mine.  Come  in,  Joe,  and  speak  for 
yourself." 

On  this,  Joe  Wylie  came  in,  hanging  his  head 
piteously. 

"  She  is  right,  sir,"  said  he;  "I'm  come  to 
ask  your  pardon  and  the  lady's.  Not  as  I  ever 
meaut  you  any  harm ;  but  to  destroy  the  ship, 


FOUL  PLAY. 


W 


it  was  a  bad  act,  and  I've  never  throve  since. 
Nance,  she  have  got  the  money.  I'll  give  it 
back  to  the  underwriters ;  and,  if  you  and  the 
lady  will  forgive  a  poor  fellow  that  was  tempted 
with  love  and  money,  why,  I'll  stand  to  the  ti'uth 
for  you,  though  it's  a  bitter  pill." 

"  I  forgive  you,"  said  Robert ;  "  and  I  accept 
your  offer  to  serve  me." 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Helen.  "Indeed,  it  is 
not  us  you  have  wronged.  But  oh,  I  am  glad, 
for  Nancy's  sake,  that  you  repent." 

"  Miss,  I'll  go  through  fire  and  water  for  you," 
said  Wylie,  lifting  up  his  head. 

Here  old  Michael  came  in  to  say  that  Arthur 
Wardlaw  was  at  the  door,  with  a  policeman. 

"Show  him  in,"  said  Robert. 

"  Oh,  no,  Robert !"  said  Helen.  "He  fills  me 
with  horror." 

"Show  him  in,"  said  Robert,  gently.  "Sit 
down,  all  of  you." 

Now  Burt  had  not  told  Arthur  who  was  in  the 
house,  so  he  came,  rather  uneasy  in  his  mind,  but 
still  expecting  only  to  see  Helen. 

Robert  Penfold  told  Helen  to  face  the  door, 
and  the  rest  to  sit  back ;  and  this  arrangement 
had  not  been  effected  one  second,  when  Arthur 
came  in  with  a  lover's  look,  and,  taking  two  steps 
into  the  room,  saw  the  three  men  waiting  to  re- 
ceive him.  At  sight  of  Penfold,  he  started,  and 
turned  pale  as  ashes ;  but,  recovering  himself, 
said:  "My  dearest  Helen,  this  is  indeed  an  un- 
expected pleasure.  You  will  reconcile  me  to 
one  whose  worth  and  innocence  I  never  doubted, 
and  tell  him  I  have  had  some  little  hand  in  clear- 
ing him."  His  effrontery  was  received  in  dead 
silence.  This  struck  cold  to  his  bones,  and,  being 
naturally  weak,  he  got  violent.  He  said.  "  Al- 
low me  to  send  a  message  to  my  servant." 

He  then  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his  memorandum- 
book,  wrote  on  it :  "  Robert  Penfold  is  here ;  ar- 
rest him  directly,  and  take  him  away  ;"  and,  en- 
closing this  in  an  envelope,  sent  it  out  to  Burt 
by  Nancy. 

Helen  seated  herself  quietly,  and  said,  "  Mr. 
Wardlaw,  when  did  Mr.  Hand  go  to  America?" 

Arthur  stammered  out,  "  I  don't  know  the  ex- 
act date." 

"Two  or  three  months  ago?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  the  person  you  sent  to  me  to  tell  me 
that  falsehood  was  not  Mr.  Hand  ?" 

"  I  sent  nobody." 

"  Oh,  for  shame! — for  shame!  Why  have 
you  set  spies  ?  Why  did  you  make  away  with 
my  prayer-book  ; — or  what  you  thought  was  my 
prayer-book?  Here  is  my  prayer-book,  that 
proves  you  had  the  Proserpine  destroyed  ;  and  I 
should  have  lost  my  life  but  for  another,  whom 
you  had  done  your  best  to  destroy.  Look  Rob- 
ert Penfold  in  the  face,  if  you  can." 

Arthur's  eyes  began  to  waver.  "  I  can,"  said 
he.  "  I  never  wronged  him.  I  always  lament- 
ed his  misfortune." 

"  You  were  not  the  cause  ?'' 

"  Never  ! — so  help  me  Heaven  !" 

"  Monster !"  said  Helen,  turning  away  in  con- 
tempt and  horror. 

"Oh,  that  is  it — is  it?"  said  Arthur,  wildly. 
"  You  break  faith  with  me  for  him  ?  You  insult 
me  for  him?  I  must  bear  any  thing  from  you, 
for  I  love  you  ;  hut,  at  least,  I  will  sweep  him 
out  of  the  path." 

10 


He  ran  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  there  was 
Burt,  listening.     "  Are  you  an  officer  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  arrest  that  man  this  moment:  he  is 
Robert  Penfold,  a  convict  returned  before  his 
time." 

Burt  came  into  the  room,  locked  the  door,  and 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket.  "  Well,  sir,"  said  he 
to  Robert  Penfold,  "I  know  you  are  a  quick  hit- 
ter. Don't  let  us  have  a  row  over  it  this  time. 
If  you  have  got  any  thing  to  say,  say  it  quiet  and 
comfortable." 

"I  will  go  with  you  on  one  condition,"  said 
Robert.  "You  must  take  the  felon  as  well  as 
the  martyr.  This  is  the  felon,"  and  he  laid  his 
hand  on  Arthur's  shoulder,  who  cowered  under 
the  touch  at  first,  but  soon  began  to  act  violent 
indignation. 

"Take  the  ruffian  away  at  once,"  he  cried. 

"  What,  before  I  hear  what  he  has  got  to 
say?" 

"  Would  you  listen  to  him  against  a  merchant 
of  the  city "  of  London,  a  man  of  unblemished 
reputation  ?" 

"Well,  sir,  you  see  we  have  got  a  hint  that 
you  were  concerned  in  scuttling  a  ship  ;  and  that 
is  a  felony.  So  I  think  I'll  just  hear  what  he  has 
got  to  say.  You  need  not  fear  any  man's  tongue 
if  you  are  innocent." 

"  Sit  down,  if  you  please,  and  examine  these 
documents,"  said  Robert  Penfold.  "As  to  the 
scuttling  of  the  ship,  here  is  the  deposition  of 
two  seamen,  taken  on  their  death-bed,  and  wit- 
nessed by  Miss  Rolleston  and  myself." 

"  And  that  book  he  tried  to  steal,"  said  Helen. 

Robert  continued:  "and  here  is  UnderclhTs 
fac-simile  of  the  forged  note.  Here  are  speci- 
mens of  Arthur  Wardlaw's  handwriting,  and 
here  is  Undcrcliff's  report." 

The  detective  ran  his  eye  hastily  over  the  re- 
port, which  we  slightly  condense. 

On  comparing  the  forged  note  with  genuine 
specimens  of  John  Wardlaw's  handwriting,  no 
less  than  twelve  deviations  from  his  habits  of 
writing  strike  the  eye  ;  and  every  one  of  these 
twelve  deviations  is  a  deviation  into  a  habit  of 
Arthur  Wardlaw,  which  is  an  amount  of  demon- 
stration rarely  attained  in  cases  of  forgery. 

1.  The  capital  L.  —  Compare  in  London 
(forged  note)  with  the  same  letter  in  London  in 
Wardlaw's  letter. 

2.  The  capital  D. — Compare  this  letter  in 
"  Date  "  with  the  same  letter  in  "  Dearest." 

3.  The  capital  T. — Compare  it  in  "Two" 
and  "Tollemache." 

4.  The  word  "  To  "  ;  see  "  To  pay,"  in  forged 
note  and  third  line  of  letter. 

5.  Small  "  o  "  formed  with  a  loop  in  the  up- 
stroke. 

6.  The  manner  of  finishing  the  letter  "v." 

7.  Ditto  the  letter  "  w." 

8.  The  imperfect  formation  of  the  small  "a." 
This  and  the  looped  "  o  "  run  through  the  forged 
note  and  Arthur  Wardlaw's  letter,  and  are  habits 
entirely  foreign  to  the  style  of  John  Wardlaw. 

9.  See  the  "  th  "  in  connection. 

10.  Ditto  the  "of"  in  connection. 

1 1 .  The  incautious  use  of  the  Greek  e.  John 
Wardlaw  never  uses  this  e.  Arthur  Wardlaw 
never  uses  any  other,  apparently.  The  writer  of 
the  forged  note  began  right,  but  at  the  word 
Robert  Penfold,  glided  insensibly  into  his  Greek 


UG 


FOUL  PLAY. 


e,  and  maintained  it  to  the  end  of  the  forgery. 
This  looks  as  if  he  was  in  the  habit  of  writing 
those  two  words. 

12.  Compare  the  words  "  Robert  Pen  fold  "  in 
the  forged  document  with  the  same  words  in  the 
letter.  The  similarity  is  so  striking,  that,  on 
these  two  words  alone,  the  writer  could  be  identi- 
fied beyond  a  doubt. 

13.  Great  pains  was  taken  with  the  signature, 
and  it  is  like  John  Wardlaw's  writing  on  the  sur- 
face ;  but  go  below  the  surface,  and  it  is  all  Ar- 
thur Wardlaw. 

,  The  looped  o,  the  small  r,  the  1  dropping  be- 
low the  d,  the  open  a,  are  all  Arthur  Wardlaw's. 
The  open  loop  of  the  final  w  is  a  still  bolder  devi- 
ation into  A.  W.'s  own  hand.  The  final  flourish 
is  a  curious  mistake.  It  is  executed  with  skill 
and  freedom  ;  but  the  writer  has  made  the  lower 
line  the  thick  one.  Yet  John  Wardlaw  never 
does  this. 

How  was  the  deviation  caused  ?  Examine  the 
final  flourish  in  Arthur  Wardlaw*s  signature.  It 
contains  one  stroke  only,  but  then  that  stroke  is 
a  thick  one.  He  thought  he  had  only  to  prolong 
his  own  stroke  and  bring  it  round.  He  did  this 
extremely  well,  but  missed  the  deeper  character- 
istic— the  thick  upper  stroke.  This  is  proof  of  a 
high  character :  and  altogether  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared to  testify  upon  oath  that  the  writer  of  the 
letter  to  Miss  Piolleston,  who  signs  himself  Ar- 
thur Wardlaw,  is  the  person  who  forged  the 
promissory  note. 

To  these  twelve  proofs  one  more  was  now  add- 
ed. Arthur  Wardlaw  rose,  and,  with  his  knees 
knocking  together,  said,  "Don't  arrest  him, 
Burt ;  let  him  go." 

"Don't  let  him  go,"  cried  old  Penfold.  "  A 
villain !  I  have  got  the  number  of  the  notes 
from  Benson.  I  can  prove  he  bribed  this  poor 
man  to  destroy  the  ship.  Don't  let  him  go.  He 
has  ruined  my  poor  boy." 

At  this  Arthur  Wardlaw  began  to  shriek  for 
mercy.  "Oh  Mr.  Penfold,"  said  he,  "you  are 
a  father,  and  hate  me.  But  think  of  my  father. 
I'll  say  anything,  do  any  thing.  I'll  clear  Robert 
Penfold  at  my  own  expense.  I  have  lost  her. 
She  loathes  me  now.  Have  mercy  on  me,  and  let 
me  leave  the  country  !"  He  cringed  and  crawled 
so  that  he  disarmed  anger,  and  substituted  con- 
tempt. 

"Ay,"  said  Burt.  "He  don't  hit  like  you, 
Mr.  Penfold  ;  this  is  a  chap  that  ought  to  have 
been  in  Newgate  long  ag^o.  But  take  my  advice ; 
make  him  clear  you  on  paper,  and  then  let  him 
go.  I'll  go  down  stairs  awhile.  I  mustn't  take 
part  in  compounding  a  felony." 

"Oh  yes,  Robert,"  said  Helen,  "for  his  fa- 
ther's sake." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Robert.  "Now  then,  reptile, 
take  the  pen,  and  write  in  your  own  hand,  if  you 
can." 

He  took  the  pen  and  wrote  to  dictation  : — 

"I,  Arthur  Wardlaw,  confess  that  I  forged 
the  promissory  note  for  £2000,  and  sent  it  to 
Robert  Penfold,  and  that  £1400  of  it  was  to  be 
for  my  own  use,  and  to  pay  my  Oxford  debts. 
And  I  confess  that  I  bribed  Wylie  to  scuttle 
the  ship  Proserpine  in  order  to  cheat  the  un- 
derwriters." 

Penfold  then  turned  to  Wylie,  and  asked  him 
the  true  motive  of  this  fraud. 

"Why  the  gold  was  aboard  the  Shannon," 


said  Wylie  ;    H  I  played  hanky-panky  with  the 
metals  in  White's  store." 

"Put  that  down,"  said  Penfold.  "Now  go 
on." 

"  Make  a  clean  breast, "  said  Wylie.  "  I  have. 
Say  as  how  you  cooked  the  Proserpine's  log,  and 
forged  Hiram  Hudson's  writing." 

"And  the  newspaper  extracts  you  sent  me," 
said  Helen,   "and  the  letters  from  Mr.  Hand." 
Arthur  groaned.       "  Must  I  tell   all  that  ?" 
said  he. 

"Every  word,  or  be  indicted,"  said  Robert 
Penfold,  sternly. 

He  wrote  it  all  down,  and  then  sat  staring 
stupidly.  And  the  next  thing  was,  he  gave  a 
loud  shriek,  and  fell  on  the  floor  in  a  fit.  They 
sprinkled  water  over  him,  and  Burt  conveyed 
him  home  in  a  cab,  advising  him  to  leave  the 
country,  but  at  the  same  time  promising  him 
not  to  exasperate  those  he  had  wronged  so 
deeply,  but  rather  to  moderate  them,  if  required. 
Then  he  gave  Burt  fifty  guineas. 

Robert  Penfold,  at  Helen's  request,  went  with 
her  to  Mr.  Hennessy,  and  with  the  proofs  of 
Arthur's  guilt  and  Robert's  innoeence ;  and  he 
undertook  that  the  matter  should  go  in  proper 
form  before  the  Secretary  of  State.  But, 
somehow,  it  transpired  that  the  Proserpine  had 
been  scuttled,  and  several  of  the  underwriters 
wrote  to  the  Wardlaws  to  threaten  proceedings. 
Wardlaw  senior  returned  but  one  answer  to  these 
gentlemen:  "Bring  your  proofs  to  me  at  my 
place  of  business  next  Monday  at  twelve,  and 
let  me  judge  the  case,  before  you  go  else- 
where." 

"That  is  high  and  mighty,"  said  one  or  two ; 
but  they  conferred,  and  agreed  to  these  terms, 
so  high  stood  the  old  merchant's  name. 

They  came;  they  were  received  with  stiff 
courtesy.  The  deposition  of  Cooper  and  Welch 
was  produced,  and  Wylie,  kept  up  to  the  mark  by 
Nancy,  told  the  truth,  and  laid  his  three  thou- 
sand pounds  intact  down  on  the  table.  "  Now 
that  is  off  my  stomach,"  said  he,  "and  I'm  a 
man  again." 

"Ay,  and  I'll  marry  you  next  week,"  said 
Nancy. 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  old  Wardlaw,  "my 
course  seems  very  clear.  I  will  undo  the  whole 
transaction,  and  return  you  your  money  less 
the  premiums,  but  plus  five  per  cent,  interest." 
And  this  he  did  on  the  spot,  for  the  firm  was 
richer  than  ever. 

When  they  were  gone  Robert  Penfold  came  in, 
and  said,  "  I  hear,  sir,  you  devote  this  day  tore- 
pairing  the  wrongs  done  by  your  firm  :  what  can 
you  do  for  me  ?"  He  laid  a  copy  of  Arthur's 
confession  before  him. 

The  old  man  winced  a  moment  where  he  sat,  • 
and  the  iron  passed  through  his  soul.     It  was  a 
long  time  before  he  could  speak.     At  last  he  said, 
"This  wrong  is  irreparable,  I  fear." 

Robert  said  nothing.     Sore  as  his  own  heart 
was,  he  was  not  the  one  to  strike  a  grand  old 
man,  struggling  so  bravely  against  dishonor. 
Wardlaw  senior  touched  his  hand-bell. 
"  Request  Mr.  Penfold  to  step  this  way." 
Michael  Penfold  came. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  the  old  merchant,  "the 
house  of  Wardlaw  exists  no  more.  It  was  built 
on  honesty,  and  can  not  survive  a  fraud.  Ward- 
law  and  Son  were  oartners  at  will.     I  had  decid- 


FOUL  PLAY. 


147 


ed  to  dissolve  that  partnership,  wind  up  the  ac- 
counts, and  put  up  the  shutters.  But  now,  if 
you  like,  I  will  value  the  effects,  and  hand  the 
business  over  to  Fenfold  and  Son  on  easy  terms. 
Robert  Penfold  has  been  accused  of  forging  John 
Wardlaw's  name  ;  to  prove  this  was  a  calumny, 
I  put  Penfold  over  my  door  instead  of  Wardlaw. 
The  city  of  London  will  understand  that,  gentle- 
men, believe  me." 

"Mr.  Wardlaw,"  said  Robert,  "you  are  a 
just,  a  noble — "     Ha  could  say  no  more. 

"Ah,  sir,"  said  Michael,  "if  the  young  gen- 
tleman had  only  been  like  you  !" 

"  Mention  his  name  no  more  to  me.  His 
crime  and  his  punishment  have  killed  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Robert,  hastily,  "  he  shall  not  be 
punished,  for  your  sake." 

"Not  be  punished  ?  It  is  not  in  your  hands 
to  decide.  God  has  punished  him.  He  is  in- 
sane." 

**  Good  Heavens  !  " 

1 '  Quite  mad  ; — quite  mad.  Gentlemen,  I  can 
no  longer  support  this  interview.  Send  me  your 
solicitor's  address ;  the  deeds  shall  be  prepared. 
I  wish  the  new  firm  success.  Probity  is  the 
road  to  it.     Good-day." 

He  wound  up  the  affairs,  had  his  name  and 
Arthur's  painted  out  at  his  own  expense,  and  di- 
rected the  painters  to  paint  the  Penfolds'  in  at 
theirs;  went  home  to  Elm-trees,  and  died  in 
three  days.  He  died  lamented  and  honored,  and 
Robert  Penfold  was  much  affected.  He  got  it 
into  his  head  that  he  had  killed  him  with  Ar- 
thur's confession,  putting  it  before  him  so  sud- 
denly. "I  have  forgotten  who  said  'Ven- 
geance is  mine,'  "  said  Robert  Penfold. 

The  merchant  priest  left  the  office  to  be  con- 
ducted by  his  father  ;  he  used  the  credit  of  the 
new  firm  to  purchase  a  living  in  the  Vale  of 
Kent ;  and  thither  he  retired,  grateful  to  Provi- 
dence, but  not  easy  in  his  own  conscience .  He  now 
accused  himself  of  having  often  distrusted  God, 
and  seen  his  fellow-creatures  in  too  dark  a  light. 
He  turned  towards  religion  and  the  care  of  souls. 

Past  suffering  enlightens  a  man,  and  makes 
him  tender  ;  and  people  soon  began  to  walk  and 
drive  considerable  distances  to  hear  the  new  vic- 
ar. He  had  a  lake  with  a  peninsula,  the  shape 
of  which  he  altered,  at  a  great  expense,  as  soon 
as  he  came  there.  He  wrote  to  Helen  every 
day,  and  she  to  him.  Neither  could  do  any 
thing  con  amore  till  the  post  came  in. 

One  afternoon  as  he  was  preaching  with  great 
unction,  he  saw  a  long  puritanical  face  looking 
up  at  him  with  a  droll  expression  of  amazement 
and  half  irony.  The  stranger  called  on  him, 
and  began  at  once.  "Wal,  parson  you  are  a 
buster,  you  air.  You  ginn  it  us  hot, — you  did. 
I'm  darned  if  I  ain't  kinder  ashamed  to  talk  of 
this  world's  goods  to  a  saint  upon  airth  like  you. 
But  I  never  knowed  a  parson  yet  as  couldn't 
collar  the  dollars." 

After  this  preamble  he  announced  that  he 
had  got  a  lease  of  the  island  from  Chili,  dug  a 
lot  of  silver  plate  out  of  the  galleon,  sold  ten 
tons  of  choice  coral,  and  a  ship-load  of  cassia 
and  cocoa-nuts.  He  had  then  disposed  of  his 
lease  to  a  Californian  company  for  a  large  sum. 
And  his  partner's  share  of  net  profits  came 
to  £17,247  13s.  3%d.  which  sum  he  had  paid  to 
Michael,for  Robert,  Penfold  in  drafts  on  Baring, 
at  thirty  days  after  sight. 


Robert  shook  his  hand,  and  thanked  him  sin- 
cerely for  his  ability  and  probity.  He  staid 
that  night  at  the  Vicarage,  and  by  that  means 
fell  in  with  another  acquaintance.  General  Rol- 
leston  and  his  daughter  drove  down  to  see  the 
Parsonage.  Helen  wanted  to  surprise  Robert ; 
and,  as  often  happens,  she  surprised  herself. 
She  made  him  show  her  every  thing,  and  so  he 
took  her  on  to  his  peninsula.  Lo  !  the  edges  of 
it  had  been  cut  and  altered,  so  that  it  presented 
a  miniature  copy  of  Godsend  Island. 

As  soon  as  she  saw  this,  Helen  turned  round 
with  a  sudden  cry  of  love,  "Oh,  Robert!"  and 
the  lovers  were  in  each  other's  arms. 

"  What  could  any  other  man  ever  be  to  me  ?" 

"  And  what  could  any  other  woman  ever  be 
tome?" 

They  knew  that  before.  But  this  miniature 
island  made  them  speak  out  and  say  it.  The 
wedding-day  was  fixed  before  she  left. 

Her  Majesty  pardoned  this  scholar,  hero,  and 
worthy  the  crime  he  had  never  committed. 

Nancy  Rouse  took  the  penitent  Wylie  without 
the  £3000.  But  old  Penfold,  who  knew  the 
whole  story,  lent  the  money  at  three  per  cent.; 
so  the  Wylies  pay  a  ground-rent  of  £G0  a  year 
for  a  property  which,  by  Mrs.  Wylie's  industry 
and  judgment,  is  worth  at  least  £400.  She  pays 
this  very  cheerfully,  and  appeals  to  Joe  whether 
that  is  not  better  than  the  other  way. 

"  Why,  Joe,"  says  she,  "  to  a  woman  like  me, 
that's  afoot  all  day/'tis  worth  sixty  pounds  a  year 
to  be  a  good  sleeper ;  and  I  shouldn't  be  that  if  I 
had  wronged  my  neighbor." 

Arthur  Wardlaw  is  in  a  private  lunatic  asylum, 
and  is  taken  great  care  of.  In  his  lucid  inter- 
vals he  suffers  horrible  distress  of  mind ;  but, 
though  sad  to  see,  these  agonies  furnish  the  one 
hope  of  his  ultimate  recovery.  When  not  troub- 
led by  these  returns  of  reason,  he  is  contented 
enough.  His  favorite  employment  is  to  get  Mr. 
Undercliff  s  fac-similes,  and  to  write  love-letters 
to  Helen  Rolleston,  which  are  duly  deposited  in 
the  post  office  of  the  establishment.  These  letters 
are  in  the  handwriting  of  Charles  I.,  Paoli,  Lord 
Bacon,  Alexander  Pope,  Lord  Chesterfield,  Nel- 
son, Lord  Shaftesbury,  Addison,  the  late  Duke  of 
Wellington,  and  so  on.  And  strange  to  say,  the 
Greek  e  never  appears  in  any  of  them.  They 
are  admirably  like,  though,  of  course,  the  matter 
is  not  always  equally  consistent  with  the  charac- 
ters of  those  personages. 

Helen  Rolleston  married  Robert  Penfold.  On 
the  wedding-day,  the  presents  were  laid  out,  and 
amongst  them  was  a  silver  box  incrusted  with 
coral.  Female  curiosity  demanded  that  this  box 
should  be  opened.  Helen  objected,  but  her  brides- 
maids rebelled  ;  the  whole  company  sided  with 
them,  and  Robert  smiled  a  careless  assent.  A 
blacksmith  and  carpenter  were  both  enlisted,  and 
with  infinite  difficulty  the  poor  box  was  riven 
open. 

Inside  was  another  box,  locked,  but  with  no 
key.  That  was  opened  with  comparative  ease, 
and  then  handed  to  the  bride.  It  contained 
nothing  but  Papal  indulgences  and  rough  stones, 
and  fair  throats  were  opened  in  some  disappoint- 
ment. 

A  lady,  however,  of  more  experience,  examined 
the  contents,  and  said  that  in  her  opinion  many 
of  them  were  uncut  gems  of  great  price  ;  there 
were  certainly  a  quantity  of  jaspers  and  blood- 


148 


FOUL  PLAY. 


stones,  and  others  of  novalue  at  all.  "  But  look 
at  these  two  pearl-shaped  diamonds,"  said  she  ; 
"why,  they  are  a  little  fortune  !  and  oh  !"  The 
stone  that  struck  this  fair  creature  dumb  was  a 
rough  ruby  as  big  as  a  blackbird's  egg,  and 
of  amazing  depth  and  fire.  "  No  lady  in 
England,"  said  she,  "  has  a  ruby  to  compare 
with  this." 

The  information  proved  correct.  The  box 
furnished  Helen  with  diamonds  and  emeralds  of 
great  thickness  and  quality.     But  the  huge  ruby 


placed  her  on  a  level  with  sovereigns.  She  wears 
it  now  and  then  in  London,  but  not  often.  It 
attracts  too  much  attention,  blazing  on  her  fair 
forehead  like  a  star,  and  eclipses  every  thing. 

Well,  what  her  ruby  is  amongst  stones  she  is 
amongst  wives.  And  he  is  worthy  of  her. 
Through  much  injustice,  suffering,  danger,  and 
trouble  they  have  passed  to  health,  happiness,  and 
peace,  and  that  entire* union  of  two  noble  hearts, 
in  loyal  friendship  and  wedded  love,  which  is  the 
truest  bliss  this  earth  affords. 


THE      END 


